When the Dandelion Thawed Her Icy Heart
by LawrenceDaddarioWatsonStewart
Summary: This story was partially inspired by other ones such as "When the Moon Fell in Love with the Sun" & "Look to the West." Plus, there some unique throw-ins of my own. Not as long as some of my other epics, but it is a nice one. Really, it is Sole Victor in reverse: Peeta was the only one of the Star-Crossed Lovers reaped. Please enjoy! And REVIEW as much as possible!
1. Chapter 1: Baby Sister Reaped

**Chapter 1: Baby Sister Reaped**

I stride into the Hob, my game bag over my shoulder. I make a beeline for Greasy Sae's stall. She is one of my customers who is reliably easy-going on pricing for my kills - amicability that is needed especially on a day like today.

"I have about a half dozen squirrels," I tell the old woman, dumping my bag on the counter. "I'm sorry, Sae - in a bit of a rush this morning."

She gives me a toothy grin. "As are we all, dearie. I'll give you ten coins for the lot." She names her price without even looking in the bag.

I smile. "Done. You're the best, Sae!"

"Anytime, girl child. Now you run along home and get ready with your mama and sister. Be sure to wear something pretty!"

I turn away, not acknowledging her last comment. The thought of getting dressed up for anything - let alone such a disgusting event like the Reaping - leaves me sour. I have never been the type of girl that adores pinning up her hair and wearing frilly dresses. Even so, in something as plain as my father's hunting jacket and my signature braid down my back, I am more than aware of the attention I am receiving from all the men in the District. I can even hear them whispering.

"There goes the oldest Everdeen girl," one miner whispers.

"Yes, and in this town, she certainly is quite the Beauty," remarks the butcher. "Really resembles her mother."

My eyes narrow slightly at the gossip. What do these men think they are after? Besides the fact that most of them are older and long married, they have to at least suspect my lack of interest in boys or any sexual relations in general. Except for Gale, my long time hunting partner (and very platonic!) friend, I have never been seen with any man.

As I am leaving the Hob, I see the baker's oldest sons - Leven and Rye Mellark - entering with a knapsack of bread. In fact, I nearly crash into the pair. Rye smiles at me, looking me up and down.

"Whoa there, darling! Wouldn't want you to ruin your pretty little head on a day like the Reaping!"

I nearly gawk at him. Did he just call me _pretty_?

"Yeah, no doubt you'll wow us in whatever you'll wear later!" Leven chuckles, brushing his hand down my one sleeve. I may not have any experience in the realm of romance, but I know damn well when a guy is flirting with me! Even when it has not happened _that_ often.

"Now, now, Leven!" Rye chortles. "You know as well as I do this little lady's already spoken for."

I scoff a little and push past them, hurrying up the path. What did they mean by that? They couldn't know about that one time the milkman's son - a hulking man already in his late thirties - came to call and straight up asked for my hand in marriage. When I was only fourteen. Mother threw him out of the house.

I guess I have to amend my earlier statement: I have not been hit on often by guys who could reasonably be considered my _peers_.

* * *

I despise Reaping Day. That one day a year when I have to dress up in an borrowed blue relic from my mother's Merchant days and be paraded around in it through the District Square for a couple of hours. Like a pig getting dressed for slaughter.

Because that's what the Reaping _really_ is. Standing in the hot sun for hours, with no shade or cool drinks, waiting for two little names to be called. And praying your name is not one of them. Not one of the names that will be sent to almost certain death in the Hunger Games.

As punishment for the twelve Districts's long-ago uprising against the Capitol, an event known as the Hunger Games was created. It is a tournament in which every District offers up one boy and one girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen; these 24 tributes are then trapped inside a wild arena and are forced to fight to the death. The last tribute standing alive wins and becomes a Victor, a mentor for their home District's future tributes the next year and into perpetuity.

Mayor Undersee begins by reciting the events that led up to the Dark Days. As I do every year, I tune this part out. It's not really important, and the dinky little narration video that plays along comes off as cheesy. I know it all by heart, anyhow.

Then the Mayor reads off the names of past District 12 Victors. This is the 74th year of our country's sick death match. And in the 73 years preceding that, we have had exactly two Victors. Two. Total. Only one is still alive. Our people bow their heads in respect for the first - Duke Vedaldi, Victor of the 13th Hunger Games. He was dead before I was born - gone for two decades, at least. Then there is Haymitch Abernathy, Victor of the 50th Hunger Games. Unfortunately, he's very much alive - a state of being made all too painfully clear when, upon the mention of his exalted name, he stands and tries to give our Capitol escort, Effie Trinket, a hug. Of course he would be wasted out of his mind on alcohol. He always is.

Once Peacekeepers have managed to pull Haymitch together, Effie begins her selection of the tributes, starting with the Girls Reaping Bowl. I barely have time to hold my breath before -

"Primrose Everdeen!"

My face goes limp in utter disbelief. My baby sister's name was one teeny tiny slip of paper in thousands - _thousands_! - and she's Reaped. At only the tender age of twelve.

I watch, almost in slow motion, as my sister steps out of her place and begins her long walk down the center aisle to the steps of the Justice Building, to death. I have to stop this! But before I can form words, open my mouth to speak, I feel a hand on my arm. I look to see Gale shaking his head in my direction. My throat stops working. By the time it returns to normal, it is too late - Prim has mounted the stage. The time for volunteering is past.

Effie moves on to the Boys. I can only watch numbly as she calls out: "Peeta Mellark!"

Peeta Mellark!

Not _him_. Not Rye and Leven's little brother; my classmate in school. But it is all too true as he joins Prim onstage and wordlessly shakes her hand. _He_ will be pitted against my precious little sister to fight to the death.

* * *

Mother and I are the first ones in line to see the tributes. I am shocked at how many people wait behind us; seeing our good-as-dead tributes off is an optional endeavor - one that most people don't embark on. It only makes me appreciate just how many of our neighbors adore Prim, the Healer's daughter. Though I am sure there are a smattering of supporters for Peeta as well.

Being first in line, and family besides, the Peacekeepers let us right into Prim's holding room. The door has barely closed behind us before I am on my knees, Prim wrapped in my arms.

"I... I was ready to volunteer for you, but... but Gale wouldn't let me!" I sob.

"Oh, don't say such things, Katniss!" Prim hiccups. "You know I would have been devastated if you did!"

I pull back to get a good view of her. "You have to win. You understand me? You have to come home to me!"

She sniffles. "I'll try."

Pulling a small golden pendant out of my pocket, I fasten it to her dress. "I got this for you in the Hob today. It's a Mockingjay pin. As long as you have it, nothing bad will ever happen to you. I promise." I kiss her forehead tenderly.

Unable to withhold my already fragile emotions, I leave the room to give Mother and Prim some time alone. I pull the frayed, green handkerchief out of my pocket and dab at my eyes with it. As I wander the narrow hallway in a fog, I bump into a burly man with a kind face.

The Baker. No doubt he's just come back from saying goodbye to his son. "Is your mother still in there with the little one?" he unexpectedly asks.

I nod.

"I'll wait, then." And he strides past me to take a place in line.

I am floored, to say the least. I have only ever traded with the Baker; he always pays a good price for my squirrels. What would behoove him to go visit my sister, when he has a much stronger stake in these Games?

This gives me an idea. Feeling as though I owe the Baker, I decide to return the favor. Besides, I have a whole other reason to want to see his youngest son.

I dodge past the Baker's bitch of a wife, no doubt searching for her husband. She doesn't appear to notice me, thankfully. Rye and Leven emerge from behind a door as I approach, also bustling past. No doubt they just parted with their brother. With no one else in line, I am ushered right in.

Peeta Mellark sits on a plush seat by the window. His eyes widen when they meet mine, and he awkwardly stands.

"What are you doing here?"

Seeing him, knowing what he represents and what he potentially could become, fills me with deep anger. I know it is irrational to blame someone strictly on circumstances outside of their control, but my sister is being sent to her likely death. And whether either one of us knows it or not, Peeta will have a hand in that fate. So thinking, I stalk forward and seize the fabric of Peeta's shirt in my fists. He tenses immediately, his eyes widening like that of my prey just before a kill.

"Now, you listen to me, _Peeta Mellark_ ," I snarl. "You will swear to me, here and now, that you will protect my sister in that arena. Because if you don't, or you kill her, and then have the _audacity_ to come back alive -" I lean in real close. "I will make you _wish_ you had died in there. Do you understand me?"

Peeta's head bobs up and down almost frantically, like a broken bobble-head toy. "Yes, Katniss! I believe you! Whatever you say!"

"Promise me!" I growl, bunching up his shirt more in my grip. "I want to hear you promise!"

"I promise!" Peeta gets out, terrified. "You know I would never hurt you!"

I have no idea why this boy thinks I would presume to know such a thing - he doesn't even know _me_! But then, Peeta says the one thing I had hoped he would not bring up:

"I would only ever help you, Katniss. I helped you with the bread."

The bread. That cursed bread he burned when we were 11 and took a vicious beating from his mother for, only to toss it to me - lying half-dead in the rain outside his door. The bread that has kept me prisoner under something like a life debt, thanks to my strict adherence towards owing those who are merciful to you.

The concept of still owing this boy my life - and for five years, no less! - angers me even more. What could I possibly give him in return to equal my continued existence on this Earth? A thought bursts into my head unannounced.

"Where's your token?" I demand, too sharply. I remember the pin I gave to my sister.

A still frightened Peeta splutters like a fish out of water. "I... I don't..."

"Your family didn't give you one?"

"No."

My face hardens, the injustice of Peeta not receiving a goodbye gift from his family adding fuel to my rage. "Here! Here's your damn token!" Seizing his neck in one hand, I pull him down to me and fiercely crash my lips against his.

My kiss is more than just a token. It's a thank you, really - and though a deeply uncharacteristic one, it is long overdue. A thank you for the bread that saved my life.

As my mouth assaults Peeta's, I slip my green handkerchief into his free hand. There! I have now endowed him with a tangible token and an intangible one. He and Prim are now equal - at least in this respect - and I have paid my debt.

I break apart from him, release him, almost violently. The baker's son can only stare at me in stunned silence. His body all at once seems to crackle with nervous electricity, and for one terrifying moment, I wonder if he is going to swoop me into his arms and kiss me back, good and proper. Only the Peacekeepers burst in and lead me away.

* * *

 **A/N: If any of you have read my previous epics, like _Genuine Star-Crossed Lovers_ or _Child of the Games_ , you know that one of my favorite themes to play with is the depiction of Katniss as a desirable woman in her District. Think of Disney's Belle as a motif.**

 **Please REVIEW!**


	2. Chapter 2: Watching Pigs for Slaughter

**Chapter 2: Watching Pigs for Slaughter**

How foolish of me to think that saying goodbye to my little sister would be the hardest part of this whole ordeal.

The hardest part will be the next five days, as I watch Prim and her competition suspended in life, to train for the arena and then be interviewed by Caesar Flickerman.

Mother wakes me up early that first morning. We clothe ourselves in simple dresses, Seam dresses - nothing like the fancy relics my mother took with her from her previous life. Then, we make the long trek down to the Justice Building. Upon registering with the Peacekeepers, one of the white-armored guards beckons us to follow him up front - only feet from the giant Jumbotron now covering the entrance to our District's palace of government. I look to Mother worriedly.

"Relatives of the tributes get priority VIP seating," she explains to me.

I frown. "How do you know that, Mama?"

Her answer seems to almost be dragged out of her. "When I was about your age, I had a friend go into the arena. Maysilee Donner. Her parents invited me up front to sit with them; I think they needed the moral support. I only remember it because that was the year Haymitch Abernathy won."

I can only stare. This is the first time I've ever _heard_ of Maysilee Donner. And since she competed against Haymitch... "Oh, Mama, Haymitch didn't kill her, did he?" I don't know why the thought distresses me so, but it does.

Mother smiles gently. "No, dear. I know for a fact he did not. They were allies and got really close to the end together. Besides, even if they hadn't teamed up, there were 48 players that year. The odds would have been against it."

I want to press her for more, except we have now reached the VIP seating. I can see that Peeta's four family members will be sharing our row. Silently, I take a seat between the Baker and my mother, refusing to look any of them in the eye - not Rye, not Leven and especially not The Witch, as I like to call _her_. I only notice my mother and the Baker exchange a glance, and for a moment, something passes between them. The understanding of some common destiny, be it their children together in the arena, or another fate that remains unknown to me.

We have barely taken our seats when the Jumbotron screen goes live, revealing a series of trains pulling into a fancy Capitol station. The tributes disembark in pairs with their mentors close behind, one by one. Only a few of the tributes really stand out to me. There's the monstrous boy from District 2, muscular and with hair the color of butter. His partner is a mousy little thing with an unnerving sneer - she can't be much taller than Prim, and maybe not much older. The girl from District 5 is stunning with flaming red hair, though very camera shy. The boy from 10 walks with a limp. District 11's male is the male from 2, except with darker skin and hair. His partner, though she possesses the same skin tone, reminds me painfully of Prim.

And there's my baby sister now. Seeing the Capitol paparazzi swarming around her nearly makes me weep audibly. I want to reach through this blasted screen and huddle her away where none of these sickos will ever find her.

Peeta is reacting to his new-found celebrity quite well. The photographers are clearly very interested in his look, and why wouldn't they be? Seeing him projected in close-up only now makes me appreciate his spun-gold eyelashes, his perfectly unblemished alabaster skin. And those eyes... eyes as blue as a summer sky...

"Katniss?" I jolt at my mother's hand on my arm. "Is everything all right, dear?"

"Y...yes. Just lost in thought," I wave her away.

Talking heads coverage continues for the rest of that day. Though in my opinion boring and totally unnecessary, we citizens are made to watch it all - not permitted to leave our seats. The only exception, of course, is to go to the bathroom in Port-a-Pottys stationed around the square. Young infants can also be attended to in private, when the need arises. To placate anyone who might be restless - mostly squirrelly youngsters - Peacekeepers patrol up and down the aisles with food and beverages. It is at least of some help, especially in the hot summer sun.

Dusk is falling by the time the Tribute Parade begins through the City Circle. District 12's horse-drawn chariot is last of all. In past years, our tributes' formal debut has been a yawn; stylists almost always dress them up in ridiculous outfits resembling coal.

Not so this time. I stare, amazed, as two blazing figures emerge onto the promenade. Prim and Peeta are literally on fire. Or at least, their clothes are. Yet these don't burn up. And the Capitol audience is going nuts over it. A more relaxed Prim begins blowing kisses to the crowd, the cameras panning to Capitol citizens diving for these kisses as if they can be touched, plucked out of the air.

"Primrose! Primrose! Primrose!" They are actually chanting my _sister's_ name!

If he is aware of all the attention his district partner is getting - and he almost surely is - Peeta does not seem to be bothered by it. He waves and smiles to a smattering of his own admirers - mostly women who I can see are shrieking and even crying over him, as if the baker's son is the star at a rock concert. The sight of this all at once sends a bristle of anger down my spine. Those peacocks think they would have a chance with a man like Peeta? Never! Not in a million years!

These almost instinctive thoughts frighten me, for I know not what they mean or why I would conjure them.

And a part of me feels that I don't want to find out.

* * *

With the Tribute Parade over and done with, this year's Hunger Games have officially opened. The formality prompts a welcome change in viewing routine.

The Hunger Games are required viewing, but that does not mean the program is constantly on. Coverage will only appear in the evenings for these next three days, but while the tributes are in training, the rest of us back home can go about our daily lives.

I spend those days hunting in the woods. It's about the only thing that calms me, distracts me from fretting about my sister. Still, my thoughts will sometimes wander. I wonder what she is doing now? Is she learning all she can? I try not to think about what Peeta might be doing. Frankly, I don't care about him.

Even if that last musing rings hollow in my mind.

On the evening of the third day of training - fourth day total - Caesar Flickerman presents the Training Scores from each tribute's private session with the Gamemakers. When District 12 is announced, I sit a little straighter in my seat, careful not to nudge the Baker.

"And now we have, Peeta Mellark with a score of... 9," Caesar announces.

There is a smattering of applause, permitted by the Peacekeepers, and I find myself clapping along with the others. A 9 is impressive for any tribute, but especially one of ours. It puts Peeta right in with, maybe a little below, the Career tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4. They train illegally for the Games from childhood and win almost every year. Peeta's score could make him a force in the arena against them.

Or against Prim. I am suddenly gripped with fright as Caesar moves on to announce my sister's score.

"And last, but certainly not least, we have the adorable Primrose Everdeen, with a score of... 8!"

It may have only drawn her about even with Peeta. It may have only put her in the middle of the pack, alongside most of the other tributes. But when the giant cheer goes up from our whole District, you would have thought Caesar had just awarded Prim with a perfect - and as-yet unheard of - score of 12. The thought that my sister has legions of fans here, willing for her to come home, brings tears to my eyes. I try not to look at the Mellarks down my row, embarrassed for the only polite reception their son received. This avoidance suddenly makes me recognize the clear unfairness of my district's reaction, and it angers me. Shouldn't we have all cheered for Peeta's score, too? After all, he _did_ score higher than his district partner, if only just barely. Would it not stand to reason, therefore, that District 12 puts its hopes in him to win?

I shake my head to clear it. What is going on with me? I don't want Peeta Mellark to win; I want Prim to! She has to win. Has to...

* * *

The next night is the tributes' last before entering the arena. It is also the night of their interviews with Caesar Flickerman.

The Capitol host treats this event like a talk-show or quiz competition, asking the tributes questions and inviting the audience to cheer for their favorites.

Like before with the unloading of the trains, only a few tributes stand out to me. The boy from 2, whose name is Cato, radiates arrogance and smugness; he even ends his interview by telling Caesar, "See you in a few weeks, give or take!" He must really think he's going to win. Both his partner, Clove, and the girl from 5 whose name I don't quite catch, come off as sly and elusive. I identify with Thresh, the boy from 11, if for no other reason than he seems to be socially awkward like me. He rarely gives Caesar anything beyond one or two word answers. And then there is Rue, the only other twelve-year-old who will no doubt compete with Prim for sympathy from young Capitol mothers.

At last, my sister is called. The cheer from the audience rivals that for Rue, even those cheers elicited from us in the District. I do not quite understand how these elite Capitol people could fall in love with my sister so much, but the thought still brings my heart out from its guarded hideaway.

"So, Prim," Caesar begins. "How do you like the Capitol so far?"

Prim squirms in her seat. "It's... very nice. Even more pretty than I imagined! And you wouldn't even believe the food!"

"I'm sure I can believe it; I've eaten too much myself!" Caesar turns to the audience in forced pain, holding his stomach. "It doesn't show, does it?"

"No! No!" the audience laughs and cheers in encouragement.

"I guess you have never had that much to eat before, huh?" Caesar turns back to my sister.

Prim shifts again. "I come from a poor family. My sister is usually the one who feeds us because my mother is busy healing patients." I am glad she does not delve into exactly _how_ I obtain such foodstuffs, but the mention of me has nonetheless caught Caesar's interest.

"Your sister? Would _this_ be her?"

And suddenly, there is a picture of me in my Reaping dress on the screen, visibly struggling to not make myself heard as Prim's name is called. A cut-away reveals Prim has seen this image too, as have the audience and the other tributes, for the camera pans out from face to random face. At one point, the lens momentarily captures Cato... with his hand brazenly down his pants for all to see, furiously pumping it up and down.

I gape, my face turning beet red. The brute is actually... jacking off to my picture! Oh God! I avert my eyes to the ground, mortified. Mercifully, Caesar moves on.

"Did she say goodbye to the you at the Justice Building?"

"Yes."

"And what did you tell her?"

"That I would try to win for her."

"And try you will, my dear." Caesar kisses my sister's hand, and the interview is over.

The Capitol audience becomes just as excited when it is Peeta's turn. The young baker turns out to be a natural on camera, kicking off the proceedings with several jokes about indigestion. He even alludes to the projection of my picture by taking a whack at Cato.

"Did you see him contemplating his tiny weener? I guess going to your death would make any virgin hungry for a poke!"

Caesar, the studio audience, District 12 - even the Peacekeepers! - burst out laughing. I do too, albeit nervously, my mouth dropped open in utter shock. Did Peeta Mellark actually just stand up for me on _national television_?! My disbelief is at least equal to Cato's, who the cameras now cut away towards to show his stupefied, enraged face.

The allusion to me prompts Caesar to switch gears. "Now, Peeta, tell me: is there a special girl back home?"

"NO!" The fangirl screech comes from someone in the studio audience, making both Peeta and Caesar visibly jump. They look at each other, sharing something between a smile and a grimace.

"Hold your horses, folks! He hasn't even answered yet!" Caesar calls, and everyone laughs.

Peeta bashfully smiles. "Nah, no, there isn't."

"I don't believe him for a second! Look at that face!" Caesar pounces. "Peeta: tell me."

All at once, I feel unusually nervous. And insatiably curious. What will he say? Do I even want to know?

"Well, there is this one girl who... I've been in love with forever. I call her my sweetheart. It was painful to be torn from her at the Reaping."

"Well, I'll tell you what, Peeta: you go out there, and you _win_ this thing, and when you get home, there's no way she won't love you. Right, folks?" The audience screams assent and Caesar laughs.

Peeta just smiles. "I'll do my best," is all he concludes with.

As Mother and I leave the square, I find myself processing all I just heard. So Peeta Mellark has a sweetheart, does he? It doesn't surprise me - I saw the baker's son in school with no shortage of friends. A girl or two, even, who would eye him in the halls. Did this sweetheart of his visit him in the Justice Building?

That second pondering makes me nearly blanch. Sweet Panem, I actually _kissed_ him in there... and he is devoted to someone else! What a stupid, stupid thing for me to do! Did his sweetheart see me enter his room? Or go out?

And the question that tugs at me most of all: who _is_ she? Who is his ' _sweetheart_ '?


	3. Chapter 3: The Revenants

**Chapter 3: The Revenants**

I get no sleep that night. Come the dawn, it is uncertain whether Mother's knock on my door is a welcome gesture or an omen.

I am so terrified of what may come that it is almost impossible to function, eat or dress. But eventually, Mother and I make it down to the Square. We are among the first there; the only people who beat us, naturally, are the Mellarks. My mother wordlessly gives the Baker a hug, which takes me by surprise - and it must displease the Witch, too, for I hear her give a cough of disapproval. I have never seen my mother embrace any man other than my father. Something is up between her and the Baker, and I hope I can find a calm enough moment to ask her about it. I take my seat between Mother and Peeta's dad, nearly jumping when the Baker rests a hand on my shoulder.

"Breathe, Katniss," he soothes. "They'll be all right."

I wish I could believe him, as the Jumbotron screen goes live at 10 AM sharp, and we viewers get the first look at the arena. Right away, my heart plummets into my stomach.

The arena this year is a winter wasteland. There's the Cornucopia, standing on a stretch of what looks like solid ice. If it breaks, does it turn into frigid waters that would surely take a tribute faster than any sword might? Ringing the icy flow is a snowy terrain dotted with forest trees covered from branch to root in the same substance. In the distance, there is even a white-peaked mountain.

There's Prim! The cameras pick up on her rising into the arena, and we see the wilderness emerge into being from her perspective. Another sweep of the lens lets us know that Peeta is only three pedestals to the left of my sister. The plates have barely clicked into position when announcer Claudius Templesmith begins the countdown.

"Let the 74th Hunger Games begin! May the odds be ever in your favor. 10... 9... 8..."

 _Will the tributes all freeze to death? Will she freeze?_ I panic. _No, they have all been outfitted with parkas. That doesn't mean she might not lose it along the way, though..._

And there's the sound of the gong! Peeta springs off his pedestal like a gazelle, one of the first tributes in motion, and breaks hard to his right. The female just adjacent to him sprints on a perpendicular trajectory towards the horn, not crossing his path, but the small male just beyond her is not so lucky. Peeta bulldozes into the lad, knocking him to the ground, and then literally runs over him without even slowing down. I hear a sickening crunch, followed by a BOOM, and suspect Peeta's boots made quite the imprint in the boy's skull.

Supplies from the Cornucopia are fanned out from the center - weapons, backpacks, tools, anything that one could imagine as useful in a fight to the death. There's a dark green backpack not far in from the pedestals; Peeta spies it and briefly changes direction to snatch it up before continuing on his chosen path... right towards my sister. I tighten my grip on my mother's hand and bore my hard gaze into the screen. _Don't you dare..._

"Prim! Come on! I've got you!"

Without much more than a second thought, Prim trustingly holds out her hands. Peeta promptly scoops my sister off her pedestal and into his arms; slinging the backpack over his shoulder, he takes off with her through the trees. Early cries of battle are left far behind.

The entire exchange - from the time of Peeta leaping off his pedestal to reaching the tree line with his partner - takes place in less than two minutes.

"He did well, Steffan," my mother says gently. I copy her gaze towards the Baker, but my throat clogs up. All I can get out is a choked, "Thank You." The Baker just nods.

I can't believe it. He actually listened to me. Peeta _actually_ followed what I told him. Or maybe not. It is clear from his assured sense of direction and Prim's almost unquestioning leap of faith that the District 12 tributes may have planned this before-hand. No matter how it came about, I am grateful.

Especially as we watch our two tributes hustle through the icy trees, Peeta's stride widening with every cannon. BOOM... BOOM... BOOM... There are so many, I nearly lose track, but I'm pretty sure I counted fourteen in a row. Add the one cannon for the boy Peeta mowed down seconds into the Games and that makes -

"Fifteen gone in the first hour?" I gape, finding myself turning to the Baker. "Has that ever happened before?" Roughly half the tributes dying in the Bloodbath is fairly common for any Games, but nearly two-thirds?

The Baker frowns in thought. "Not for many, many years. I think the last time we had a first day death count that high was, oh... before you were born. Couple years before, maybe."

Peeta can carry my sister at a run for an amazingly long distance. They must be at least two or three miles from the Cornucopia before he stops against a tree to rest. He sets Prim down gently in the snow.

"Let's see what treasures we got, shall we?" he grins at her, like a father would his child. I can't help but smile and think that Peeta would make an excellent father. I mentally slap myself. Where had _that_ come from?

"Did you happen to count how many dead?" Peeta absentmindedly asks, his focus on opening the pack.

Prim shakes her head. "No. I was too busy listening to the pounding of my own heart instead. It sounded an awful lot like a cannon."

The District 12 audience chuckles at her little joke.

For not sticking around to watch the show, Peeta and Prim made off with a pretty good haul: a camouflage blanket, a completely empty canteen, a packet of sausages - frozen ("Just like everything else in this winter wonderland!" Peeta grouches), a foldable spear, and two medium-sized knifes. Peeta unfolds the spear, locking it into place to keep it straight, before handing the two knives to Prim.

"We didn't do too bad for ourselves, little one!" Peeta ruffles the hood of my sister's parka affectionately. She smiles.

"Except our nourishment is kind of... lacking," Prim admits, eyeing the dry-as-a-whistle canteen and frozen sausage.

"Nothing a little warmth can't fix. We'll gather some wood for a small fire, pack snow into the canteen and boil it for water! And thawing the sausages shouldn't be that hard!"

Rye whoops. "Boiling the snow for water! Now why didn't I think of that? Our baby brother's brilliant, Leven!"

I almost let out a snort. I guess it doesn't take much to impress the middle Mellark son. Any idiot worth his ass should know you can get water from boiling snow!

Peeta puts Prim to work gathering firewood, enough so they can build a fire small enough to cook two of the sausages, but not large enough to alert any of the remaining tributes. As they work, Peeta strikes up a conversation.

"So, what's life like in the Seam, Primrose?"

"Meager. We get buy on what we can forage for ourselves. You learn quickly how to live within your means, spare no resources or any expense. It helps that my mom and sister use so much of the land for their lines of work."

Peeta frowns. "It doesn't sound all that happy."

"Oh, but it is, Peeta! It... humbles you. You learn that if you have love and family, you can weather anything."

Peeta cracks a smile as he adds another branch to the fire. "Does your sister feel that way?"

I jerk in my seat. Why would he be asking about _me_ all of a sudden?

"In terms of me and Mother, yes. Anyone else..." she shakes her head. "She's very independent; proud to a fault. Marriage and childbearing are at the very _bottom_ of her bucket list."

I can feel my neighbors around me chuckling and even eyeing me in their amusement. Flushed red with embarrassment at my lack of familial aspirations, I bury my face in my skirt.

"And what about you, Prim? Are those things on _your_ bucket list?"

Prim blushes. "Yeah," she admits. "I've always loved helping Mom deliver babies for other families. It makes me want to have my own someday. Have my first kiss. Marry a nice guy."

Peeta eyes twinkle, obviously enjoying their banter. "Anyone in particular?"

"No, nobody special," my sister coyly replies.

I grin so wide, it nearly breaks my face. I already know for a fact that's a damn lie. Prim's had a crush on Gale's little brother, Rory, since she was in kindergarten. She's just never admitted it to anyone, least of all herself.

Dusk is falling by this time. As soon as the last of the sun's rays are disappearing over the horizon, their shadowy tendrils stretching away across the snowdrifts, the anthem begins to play. With it, the faces of the fifteen dead tributes appear in the sky.

The first to appear are both the tributes from District 3. Then both tributes from 4 follow. I recognize the boy in that pair as the one Peeta trampled at the start of the Games. The screen shows Peeta's face flicker with something that might be guilt, in harmony with the dancing firelight.

Only the boy from 5 appears next. So the fox-faced girl must have made it out. After that, the deaths are pretty uniform. Both from 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10. That's it for the night.

I let out a long breath and slump down in my seat, hugging myself to keep out the chilly night air. Only five districts still have a dog in this fight, four of them with both of their tributes still intact. So many deaths in one day... so many... It could have been Prim... It could have been Peeta...

I startle at a realization. Not even a single day in, and already we are one death away from the Final Eight. Who will it be? Will Prim fall just short? Will Peeta? And what if they both make it into such an elite group? The Final Eight is a significant milestone for the Games, though it normally takes days, sometimes weeks to achieve. Once it happens, however, the Capitol interviews the remaining tributes' friends and family. If both of the District 12 tributes make it, Mother and I will surely be filmed and broadcast before all of Panem, as will the Mellarks. What will I say about Prim? Will I have to say anything about _Peeta_? The thought oddly makes me blush.

Observing Peeta on the screen, I notice that he has what looks like a green handkerchief around his wrist. Did his sweetheart give that to him when she bid him goodbye at the Justice Building? Perhaps it has quite a bit of luck in it, if it carried him through one of the worst Bloodbaths in Hunger Games history.

Meanwhile, Peeta now puts out the fire for the night. Bundling Prim up in his arms, he burrows both of their bodies against a tree, covering them up with the camouflage blanket for extra warmth. He then covers _this_ up with a packeted padding of snow - even covering his and Prim's faces and what little other exposed skin with the stuff.

"We shouldn't freeze, I promise," Peeta smiles. "This is just to keep us invisible in the night."

Prim giggles as he lathers snow on her nose. "You're really good at this, Peeta. You should be a painter!"

The baker's son chuckles. "Well, I do decorate the cakes down at the bakery, so I suppose that's kind of the same thing."

With that, the pair settle down to sleep. With no other actions from the rest of the field, coverage is halted for the night, and the Peacekeepers turn us out and back to our homes, promising that any new developments will be relayed in the morning. Trying to keep myself calm in the knowledge that my baby sister is safe with Peeta for now, I stumble into my bed and instantly fall fast asleep.


	4. Chapter 4: The Final Eight

**Chapter 4: The Final Eight**

I wake up even before my alarm sounds on the morning of the second day, hurrying to my mother's room to wake her. This time, we beat the Mellarks down to the Square, sitting with them in the front row like before. Except for Peeta's mother, being in close proximity to this Merchant family is not so bad, although we probably would not be allowed to sit anywhere else. If either Peeta or Prim die, or both, the Capitol will want their loved ones to see it unencumbered.

Thankfully, Peeta and Prim survived their first freezing night in the arena. Leaving their campsite, Peeta is leading their pair through the trees, until they reach the foothills of the icy mountain.

"We're climbing _that_?" Prim stares.

"As high as we can without safety equipment, although I doubt the Gamemakers or sponsors would provide something that valuable for mere tributes like us," Peeta theorizes. "We'll have a much better height advantage in addition to being hidden. The woods will become dangerous if we stay there for very long."

So the District 12 tributes begin to hike up the rocky paths of the mountain. They get about a third of the way up before it becomes steep enough that they have to climb vertically. Instead of stopping as he seemed to indicate, however, Peeta decides to risk it without safety equipment. Using only natural handholds and footholds and with Prim on his back, the baker's son begins to scale the mountain face.

I grip my mother's hand the entire time he does this. _Peeta, if either of you fall, you're dead, and it will be on your hands_ , I think. _Still, I have to admit, you're so_ _strong_ _..._

I shake my head. What are these thoughts that keep leaping into my head uninvited?

Somewhere between what I gauge to be halfway and two-thirds up the mountain, Peeta pauses on a safe, sturdy outcropping. "We should be high enough for now," he figures.

There is a sudden scraping against the rock, and Peeta looks around to where he set my sister down. "Careful, Primrose!"

But Prim is just sitting there calmly, and now looking confused. "I didn't move."

Peeta frowns, unfolding his Capitol spear from where he was able to store it in his pocket. "Stay here," he warns my sister. He approaches a boulder near where the sound originated. He takes a sudden leap around the landmark, and there's a scream. A girl's scream.

"Freeze! Who are you? Come on out of there!" Peeta demands.

He backs up to allow the tribute to emerge. As soon as the little girl rounds the rock, I realize it's Rue from District 11.

"How long have you been up here?" Peeta asks, his voice having calmed somewhat.

"Since... since last night," Rue trembles. "I've been hiding from the Careers."

Peeta stares at her. "Well, that makes three of us. Come on, sit down; I bet you want some company."

Rue cautiously takes a seat next to Prim. "You're not going to kill me?"

"Not yet. I want you as an ally." Peeta plops on the ground next to her. "You're pretty brave, climbing this all by yourself. Resourceful, too. I had to carry Prim up without a net."

The conversation is interrupted when Leven lets out a groan next to me. "What is he thinking? One twelve-year-old is OK, but _two_? Does he actually _want_ to die?"

I want to smack him. I saw Rue's interview, in which she expressed how great a climber and evader she was. And if she managed to climb as high as Peeta, with no help and at half his size... let's just say I would want her as an ally, too.

* * *

I am satisfied when Leven has to eat his own words.

At a size that's even smaller than Prim's, Rue is able to navigate some of the tiniest slopes and outcroppings of the mountain, scaling pretty high to retrieve bird's eggs from nests hidden in the rocky crevices.

"I found another! That makes one for each of us!" she hollers down to Peeta.

"Good!" he yells back. "Why don't you make your way down now? Be careful!"

Rue obeys and nimbly returns to their plateau, where Peeta now has a small fire going. She presents three decent-sized eggs to him.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen: we feast! All right!" Peeta chuckles as he sets to cooking.

"'Gentlemen'? He's the only guy here!" Rue whispers to Prim, and the little girls giggle. I find myself smiling as I wonder if they have a crush on the handsome young baker.

Wait... did I just admit that Peeta is _handsome_?

After cooking the birds eggs and having one each, Peeta lets the fire burn for a bit as he and the girls just sit and talk.

"I think we'll have to think about dinner..." Peeta is saying.

"AHHHHHHHH!" A sudden cry that sounds like one a warrior would utter makes all three tributes leap to their feet. Barely in time, though. Glimmer, the blond Career girl from District 1, ambushes them. As the little girls scatter, Glimmer goes after Peeta, her most threatening opponent. Tackling him, they roll around on the ground, flailing and kicking.

Finally, they pause with Glimmer straddling Peeta, as she tries to push a knife down onto his face. Despite the life-or-death context, I feel a strange rage at seeing Glimmer atop Peeta in such a... compromising position.

Peeta lost his spear in the struggle, which is now wedged in a crevice of the plateau. Prim desperately tries to pull the weapon out of the crack, but it will not budge.

Seeing all this, and especially Peeta struggling to keep Glimmer at bay, Rue discovers that one of the Career's knives has fallen nearby. She knows what she has to do. Seizing the blade, Rue stealthily slips up behind Glimmer, and plunges the weapon - down to the hilt - in between the Career's shoulderblades.

Glimmer coughs up blood, her eyes widening at the stunned realization that she has lost. Peeta pushes her off of him, and with Rue's help, lowers the Career's dying form to the rocks. Glimmer finally succumbs and the cannon sounds. BOOM.

There is a laden pause as all three allies work to catch their breath. At last, Peeta shakily stands, crossing over to where Prim is still struggling with his spear. He plucks the weapon from the crack as though it is a twig.

"What happened?" Rue asks. It's kind of a dumb question, except that she may really be inquiring over what went wrong. "How did she find us? And where are the others?"

"She must have seen the smoke from our fire, probably," Peeta growls, angrily stamping it out. "Cooking lunch over a fire! How could I have been so _stupid_?!"

Prim lays a comforting hand on Peeta's shoulder. "It's over. And we're all still safe."

Peeta's eyes widen with a sudden realization. "Yes, but maybe not for long." He hurries over to Glimmer's body and examines it. "Careers usually travel in packs... so why were _you_ all alone?" He snaps his fingers. "I bet you Cato or one of the others sent her to scout ahead, and she just stumbled upon us!"

Prim gasps. "But that means... the rest of the Careers could be on the mountain! Or right at the base of it."

Peeta cautiously peers over the side. He has to squint in the rapidly fading sunlight. Then: "There!"

The camera follows his finger towards a faint glow - right at the base of the mountain. A campfire. The wintry woods lie dark and foreboding just beyond.

"Oh, if only we could get back into the trees! It would give us more cover than the mountain. And we can't climb much higher up without risking injury. The Careers will see Glimmer's face in the sky tonight and come hunting for us!"

"We're trapped!" Prim practically wails.

"No, we're not!" Rue tells them eagerly. "I know a path that leads around the mountain. We can follow it, climb down the other side, and then circle back around wide to reach the forest. Follow me!"

* * *

Traversing the mountain at nighttime has its own dangers. But Peeta must figure the chance of waiting until first light only to potentially be ambushed by the other Careers is even more dangerous.

By the light of Rue's flashlight that she procured from the Cornucopia, he and Prim follow their ally around and down the mountain through the night. The sun is just beginning to rise over the arena and over District 12 when the three allies reach the safety of the winter trees. Mother, the Mellarks and I have been watching in the Square all night and with no sleep. Suddenly, a Peacekeeper approaches us.

"A Capitol camera crew is waiting to interview you. For the Final Eight tributes."

All I want to do is go to sleep in my own bed, but the Peacekeeper leaves no room for argument. I wearily follow Mother and the Mellarks into the Justice Building, where one of the ornate rooms has been outfitted with cameras and a backdrop. Six comfy armchairs await us, and we each take a seat.

The interviewer starts with Prim first, asking questions of Mother and me.

"So, Katniss: do you think Prim has what it takes to win?"

I bristle at the exact phrasing of the inquiry, as it seems almost biased against a twelve-year-old. Haven't _two_ twelve-year-olds now made it into the Final Eight?

"Of course she can! She's smart; she's resourceful. And she has a family here who loves her dearly. I know she wants to come home to me! Don't count her out."

The Mellarks are questioned next about their son. In response to a question almost identical to mine, the Baker answers nervously:

"We are so proud of our son, and brother. He is strong and brave. And he has a lot to come home to." I start when I just catch him glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. I wonder: was he including me with the rest of his family as someone for Peeta to _'come home to'_? And why?

More questions follow, some of them general, some of them directed at very particular people, like Mother, Mrs. Mellark and Leven. At last, we are released to our homes. Despite the fact that it's already the middle of the day, I plop into my bed and fall asleep.


	5. Chapter 5: Netted

**Chapter 5: Netted**

I wake up on what I learn to be the morning of the following day. I panic on having missed the rest of the arena's third day of coverage, but Mother reassures me there were no new deaths.

As we gather in our usual seats for the fourth day of the Games, the camera has settled on Peeta, Prim and Rue. Their alliance must be a favorite amongst the Capitol audience, especially now that they have managed to take out a Career. And even I have to confess, their banter is quite entertaining, like a father indulging his precocious children.

"So, Peeta: you said you have a sweetheart, at your interview with Caesar. Would I know her?" Prim prods teasingly.

Peeta smiles, but there's an almost grimacing quality to it. "You might, you might not. In any case, that's for me to know and you to find out."

I must be getting paranoid, reading into every single thing Peeta says. I understand why he would want to be vague on the identity of his sweetheart, especially around a talkative pre-teen. But what does his last phrase mean? For Prim to find out, she would have to win... right? Is Peeta planning something? And if so, what is it?

Obviously desperate to change the subject, Peeta begins to take inventory. "We're at the Final Eight now. Who's left, besides us?"

"The three Careers: Marvel, Cato and Clove," Prim offers up.

"Thresh - my district partner," Rue adds.

"Which then only leaves..." Peeta's rumination about the remaining tribute is cut off by a scream. The allies look at each other.

"Foxface!" The trio chorus, before taking off running through the trees.

They don't get very far before they come upon the red-headed girl from 5. Caught in a net. Honing in on their gaze, the sly tribute's eyes convey a pleading fear. "Please help me!" she begs.

"Prim! Give me one of your knives! Quick!" Peeta orders. Beside me, I can hear his mother groan.

"More allies? He's going to have to kill at some point, the coward!"

What a bitch.

Meanwhile, Peeta frantically works to cut Foxface free of the net. He has almost hacked out a hole big enough for her to clamber through when Prim screams, "LOOK OUT!"

A spear suddenly whirls through the net, landing in Foxface's stomach with a sickening THUNK! Peeta spins at the sight and ducks a second spear, which flies over his head. The owner of these projectiles is Marvel, the boy from District 1.

Peeta doesn't have time to ready his own spear. He doesn't even have time to think. Enraged, he charges the Career like a bull and runs him down into the snow. The baker's son's wrestling skills now come into deadly play, as Peeta expertly pins Marvel into the white earth and snaps the boy's neck without another thought. The cannon fires.

BOOM.

"PEETA! COME HELP ME!"

Peeta whips back around at the sound, panic in his eyes. He rushes back to Prim as she struggles to extract the wounded Foxface from the net. She is bleeding profusely from her abdomen, the sickening liquid spilling in sharp relief onto the snow as Peeta settles her down onto the ground.

A groan is now heard. And it didn't come from Foxface.

"Rue!" Peeta turns about to see that the District 11 girl took the second spear that was meant for him; the tip has punctured her upper chest.

The District 12 tributes look at each other. "You take Foxface; I'll take Rue!" Peeta orders.

For one mad moment, I think that the pair might be working together to finish them off. But no, they don't even need to. Peeta and Prim each sit beside a dying girl, holding their hands and speaking comforting words. Foxface goes quickly. Rue fights to the bitter end, but finally succumbs. Just before she passes on, Peeta strokes her hair and thanks her for helping them find food, for leading him and my sister off the mountain.

Two more cannons fire together. BOOM. BOOM.

* * *

Traumatized, and with blood from multiple people literally on their hands, Peeta and Prim can do nothing except stumble away. Finding another large tree, they take shelter and begin to set up camp.

Nobody in all of District 12 has left the Square for hours. Not since Haymitch Abernathy and Maysilee Donner have both of our tributes survived with only five left in the arena.

Oh, wait. Suddenly there's only four. I jolt right along with Peeta and Prim around sunset when another cannon goes off. A little later, when the faces of the dead appear in the sky, it turns out to be Thresh. He is the one who is displayed alongside Marvel, Foxface and Rue.

"Looks like it's us versus District 2," Peeta sighs, holding Prim closer to him under their coat of snow.

"Peeta?" Prim asks meekly. "If it comes down to just you and me at the end... would you kill me?"

Peeta does not answer, but for a moment, I think I see something flash in his eyes. Something that resembles pain. Even after my sister falls asleep against him, the baker's son stays up long into the night.


	6. Chapter 6: The Finale

**Chapter 6: The Finale**

I shake throughout the entirety of the arena's fifth day. No new deaths materialize. I am so close, so close to having Prim back. The only question is: how will she outlast Cato and Clove, and - if it comes down to it - Peeta?

After a fitful night's sleep, Mother and I take up our old positions in the Square, which by now has been packed for the last few days. No one dares speak, or make any predictions, for fear of jinxing our District's chances of having a Victor for the first time in 24 years.

On this sixth day in the arena, my sister and the baker's son are foraging for food. The day before, a parachute from a sponsor had provided our tributes with a spile. It's a sort of pipe that can be used to tap water from the trees. Only the tree that Peeta is now tapping does not contain water. It contains maple syrup - a rare delicacy in District 12. My family and I have never had it except on holidays, or when Parcel Day comes around.

Prim stands guard a short distance away. All is quiet. Too quiet. Then -

"Gahhhhh!" The shout forces my panicked eyes back up to the screen, where I had looked away for just a moment. My baby sister is collapsing to the snow - a knife in her leg.

"NO!" the cry comes in unison from Peeta on the screen and myself. The camera picks up a ragged Clove hustling towards our tributes through the snow after she threw her knife. From the look in her eyes, I chill at the thought that she might be deranged.

Down on her knees, but alive, Prim manages to pivot towards Clove and brace for impact. Clove tries to tackle her, but Prim does not go down any further into the snow. If she did, there would be almost no hope for her to fight back against the girl.

Six days in the arena have made Prim remarkably strong, and she manages to keep Clove at bay with only one hand. With the other, she gropes for one of her knives in her pocket, whips it out -

The flash of silver enters Clove's stomach with one clean stroke and then slices, tearing the flesh like that of an onion. Clove staggers backwards in shock, her insides beginning to show, as she collapses into the drifts. Prim finishes her off with a slash across the throat, and the cannon sounds. BOOM.

I burst into relieved sobs, overcome. That was a kill no one expected my sister to make. A part of me wonders why Clove was all by herself, why _any_ of the Careers our tributes have encountered were alone. But it doesn't matter.

Meanwhile, Peeta is checking on Prim's wound, carefully pulling the knife out of her leg. Ripping a piece of his shirt off, he fashions a crude tourniquet.

"Can you stand?"

Prim nods.

The District 12 tributes make a break for the Cornucopia. Peeta suspects that his tourniquet won't hold, and that the horn might supply them with better medicine. I shake in fear as I wonder if they are walking into a trap with Cato, the one other tribute still alive.

3 tributes left... 3 tributes left...

"RARRRRRRRR!"

I yelp in fright as a creature as white as the snow around it leaps into the path of our tributes. It's a snow leopard! A mutt from the Gamemakers, perhaps. Peeta throws Prim behind him and reaches for his spear.

The leopard charges. But Peeta is still trying to unfold the spear. Suddenly, a blond blur leaps in between man and beast, so that the leopard's fangs sink into it instead.

"PRIM! NO!" Peeta yells. Seizing his spear, he frightens off the monster so that he can rescue his ally.

I let out a wail when I see what the leopard has done to my sister. Gashes in her chest and neck. Deep ones, too. Nooooooooo...

Evidently knowing what I painfully know too, Peeta tries to desperately staunch the flow of blood with his parka, his shirt, anything. Prim's hand on his arm halts him.

"So many things I didn't get to experience..." Prim says wistfully. "My first kiss..."

"Hey, hey, hey, look at me, look at me, right at me." Peeta directs Prim to meet his eyes as he chokes back tears. Then he suddenly bends down and presses his lips to my sister's gently, briefly.

"There," the baker's son smiles weakly. "Everyone deserves to have that before..." He can't bring himself to say it.

"Peeta... I... want to know... who is your sweetheart?"

Peeta pauses. Then, he bends back over my sister and whispers something in her ear. I and the whole of District 12 strain to listen, but no microphones are nearby to pick up what Peeta says. Whatever it is, though, it has an intense effect on my sister. She gasps, before gripping Peeta's arms.

"You have to _win_ , Peeta," she hisses with unnerving seriousness. "You have to win for _her_. Make her happy."

I wonder if Prim has a personal acquaintance with whomever Peeta's sweetheart is. It would not surprise me if she did - she has scores of friends, and everyone loves her. Also, I find myself wondering if Peeta just gave away his first kiss to her. My sister is now fading fast.

"Rory..." she gets out.

"I'll tell him. After I win," and Peeta brushes a lock of her hair back tenderly. "I promise."

Prim smiles - one that stays on her face as her eyes no longer see. BOOM.

I knew it was coming. But that doesn't stop me from collapsing to the ground in sobs and anguished wails. Mother holds me. Most of our district is crying; amidst the crowd, I can even see Rory Hawthorne beating on his brother's chest with both fists in his grief. The Mellarks are stoically silent, refusing to look Mother or me in the eye. Except for the Baker, who wipes back tears.

The hovercraft has barely taken my sister's body away when the snow leopard returns. This time, though, Peeta is ready for it with his spear. What's more, he is _mad_.

The beast attacks, but Peeta parries with a slash of the spear, nicking the leopard across its eye. "RARRRRRR!" The enraged animal lunges at Peeta, knocking him back into the snow and pinning him there.

"Grrrrrr... Rrrrrrrr..." Peeta growls as he uses the butt of the spear to keep the leopard's snapping jaws and claws off and away from him. He isn't entirely successful, as one paw rips through his parka, his shirt, down to his chest, leaving sickening gashes there.

"AHHHHHH!" Peeta roars in pain. I can't watch.

"Oh, why doesn't it get it over with?" I wail to Mother.

But it turns out, the leopard does not get that far. It is interrupted. By Cato.

The boy from District 2 stabs the leopard in its side, evidently wanting the last kill of the Games for himself. But the wound does not subdue the creature.

It only makes the leopard switch targets.

The leopard now lunges at Cato instead, with a ferocity that takes the blond boy by surprise. Before Cato can begin to defend himself, he is flat on his back in the snow and his sword knocked out of his hands. The leopard begins to tear Cato apart without mercy, and for the first time, I cannot tell which tribute will outlast the other to become Victor.

Barely alive, Peeta manages to rise to his feet, using the spear for support. Bleeding dangerously, he nonetheless makes it over to the leopard and the struggling Cato before taking his spear and whacking it on the beast, clubbing it. Finally, he reverse thrusts the tip into the animal's back. With a howl of pain, the leopard collapses on top of Cato and moves no more. It is dead.

Breathing heavily, Peeta somehow uses his amazing strength to push the leopard off of Cato. Right away, I can see that the last Career is close to death. Unless something really weird happens, Peeta will be Victor. District 12 will have a Victor again...

Watching in suspended silence, the whole of our District observes Peeta compassionately making Cato comfortable for death - even giving this last enemy his parka and holding his hand. Cato says nothing, does not even appear aware that Peeta is with him. At last, he goes under.

BOOM.

At the sound of the last cannon, District 12 erupts into cheers. The Mellark family bursts into grateful tears, even the Witch. And through the tumult, we hardly hear Claudius Templesmith's announcement:

"Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the 74th Annual Hunger Games: Peeta Mellark! I give you... the male tribute from District 12!"

* * *

 **A/N: There are of course, in this and the previous arena chapters, parallels to the fic** ** _When the Moon Fell in Love with the Sun_** **by Mejhiren. Prim's insertion changes it up a little, harkening back to** ** _Look to the West_** **by JLaLa.**


	7. Chapter 7: My Baby is Gone

**Chapter 7: My Baby is Gone**

The next few days after Peeta is pulled from the arena are a flurry of activity.

The whole of District 12 decks out and prepares for a celebration, hailing our first Victor in almost a quarter-century and only third overall. In between activities, we pay attention to Capitol news coverage, which reports to us that Peeta has been in the hospital the last several days, recovering from his wounds with the snow leopard.

At last, we gather in the Square one last time, for Peeta's final interview with Caesar Flickerman. I have to admit, as Peeta steps onstage to the roars of the crowd, he looks beautiful. The greatest moment of all, however, is when a Capitol attendant presents Peeta with a pelt made from the leopard he killed. He may keep it and wear it as long as he lives. The audience goes beserk, and so does District 12. I don't join in, though. What an absolute waste of a pelt! I could have made a fortune from it in the Hob.

The fun ends after that, though, as Peeta is made to watch a condensed three-hour marathon of his Games. He makes it through most of it, but when my sister dies, he absolutely cannot hold back the tears. Neither can I, reminded that my family has been torn apart forever.

President Snow places the Victory Crown on Peeta's head, and the coverage ends for the night.

* * *

As Peeta rides home by train from the Capitol, we hear more news about our latest Victor. He has already been nicknamed Peeta Mellark the Leopard Killer. As if that was the only thing he killed.

By the time the train pulls into the District 12 station, the area is flooded with people. Folks are even standing on rooftops to get a look at our new Victor.

Peeta bounds off the train into the arms of his family, crying happily and smiling with them. As relatives of the fallen tribute, Mother and I stand close behind, expected to congratulate Peeta on his win. I find myself glowering at the sight, at Peeta. Because of him, it is not Prim who now embraces Mother and me. It is not Prim who will get to live out the rest of her life, get married to Rory Hawthorne, become a mother and pass on the Everdeen genes. Lord knows I certainly won't accomplish such a task - marry myself off to some man I could never love anyway, let him sexually take me in his bed, bear his children.

Peeta finally faces Mother and me. I cannot even look the Victor in the eye, though I can still tell his expression is somber. Suddenly, Peeta turns and jumps back onto the train. Everyone looks at each other, and whisper. What is he doing?

The answer comes sooner than expected. Peeta now returns into view.

Cradling the white-sheeted body of my sister in his arms, as if she is a baby.

It's a blatant break from tradition. Usually, the fallen tribute(s) are unloaded off the train in simple wooden caskets, to be buried in simple graves of the cemetery set aside especially for victims of the Games. Wordlessly and sadly, Peeta approaches Mother and me, passing off the body of my little sister to us.

My mother clutches at it and weeps, rocking Prim's body back and forth. "Oh, my sweet Primrose! My baby! My poor little child!"

I bury my face up against what I know to be Prim's, sobbing, even as my thoughts devolve into rage. I refuse to look the man before me in the face, no matter how damn handsome he might be. _He_ did this!

Apparently, I am not the only one who is of this opinion, for as Peeta moves into the crowd of presumed well-wishers, they part for him as though he is the plague.

"He's a cheat!" one young boy hollers.

Despite my grief over my sister's death, I feel the urge to attack whomever dares to throw such slander. I know most of the district supported Prim, and are mourning her loss just as much as I am. She was a favorite in both town and Seam; everybody loved her. And Peeta may have done a lot of wrong things in the arena, but in no way did he ' _cheat_.' This is the Hunger Games. Cheating has no meaning in a fight to the death, unless you are a Career and train illegally before entering the arena. And Peeta is certainly above _that_.

It is with relief that Haymitch finally emerges from the train to lead his protégé away.

* * *

When a Victor comes home, he is actually given a choice. He can either live in one of the mansions in the District Victors' Village. Or he can move back in with his family, if any live. Or, he can move into a house in the District and make it all his own.

Peeta chooses none of the above - and amazingly is granted his wish.

Just beyond the woods around District 12 lies a beautiful lake. In the summertime, Prim and I would sneak out there for swims. When I was younger, I would go with my father.

And on the other side of that lake, there lay an abandoned mansion. Peeta now requests that this be his home. I find it shocking that Cray and the other Peacekeepers even agreed to it at all. The mansion technically lies beyond the boundaries of the District; Peeta has to be cleared through Twelve's main gate just to access the place. Now and again, I see him passing in and out of Twelve, first in his new car that is usually laden with supplies, and then when winter comes along, a horse-drawn sleigh.

* * *

So it is, one bitingly cold night that I hear a knock at the door. At this time of night and in this weather, I know it can't be a Peacekeeper. Curious, I answer.

"I... Oh, hello, Katniss," Peeta starts and he blushes.

I stare. What would Peeta Mellark be doing all the way out here in the Seam? And what was he about to say, before he saw me? Whatever he was going to say, I can't help but shake the feeling that it was prepared.

Peeta now holds out a medallion to me. I frown.

"What's this? What do you want?" I sound as cold as the snow that blows around us, but I don't care. If I had my way, I would never have to look upon Peeta Mellark again. He could just go hide away in his mansion - in self-imposed exile - beyond my home and I could pretend that he doesn't exist.

Peeta winces. "I... I received this from the Capitol. It's... it's a bronze medal. For Prim."

Prim. I flinch at her name. Why would the Capitol want to give my sister a medal? She's dead!

"The two runner-ups... get a medal traditionally. Cato probably got silver. I was given a gold one along with my... with this..." He gestures at the leopard skin wrapped around his shoulders, the pelt looks so majestic so as to almost be fit for a King. I find my eyes suddenly zeroing in on the green handkerchief wrapped around his wrist. Has he not taken it off since the arena? He must really love that sweetheart of his a lot.

I slowly take the medal from him. It is indeed beautiful bronze, complete with my sister's name engraved on it. I don't know whether to clutch the thing to me as though it is precious or damn it to the flames of our meager fire. I opt for the former.

"There's something else." And suddenly Peeta is pushing an entire bag of _gold_ into my hands, along with an official piece of parchment. My mouth falls open in astonishment.

"What's all this?"

"Part of my winnings. I will be given royalties for life. And by my authority, you and your mother will receive part of those winnings every month for as long as you live."

I nearly drop the bag in the snow. I can't believe it! He's... he's just _given_ me more money than I've seen in several years of life! I focus my gaze on the parchment before I do something rather drastic like cry.

"And this...?"

"... is the deed to a house in the Merchant sector. Your mother's old home, the old apothecary, so I was told. I purchased it with some of my winnings. You can move in there, start up the old business. You will _never_ go hungry _again_." And he says the last with finality.

I hate owing people. Especially this young man who is responsible for the death of my sister. How can I possibly repay him? An insane thought strikes me. It may be cold, and I may have no experience, but I could take Peeta right here in the snow. Straddle him in the drifts and have sex with him until he cums. Surely my virginity would be worth the wealth he has just bestowed on me? But before I can act on this suggestion, before I can attack him, my mother appears at my side.

"Peeta! Why don't you come in?"

"Much obliged, Mrs. Everdeen," he smiles and steps inside.

I barely have the words with which to whisper to my mother all that we have just been bequeathed; that we have just been saved from poverty by a young man's mere whim. Mother is overcome, and actually finds it within herself to hug her youngest daughter's killer.

"How can we ever thank you?"

Peeta shifts a little in his seat. "I was hoping that... Katniss coming to live with me would be thanks enough."

My shock morphs into rage as I process what he has just proposed. All at once, I regret the mad idea of making love to him in the snow. Living with him in that giant mansion? There can be no ambiguity as to what he _really_ wants. He wants me for...

I become even more angry. How can he do this? He has a sweetheart! Surely by now he has returned to her, offered her his love which he fought for in the arena? How could co-habitating with me be anything other than betrayal?

I pull Mother aside. "Mother, I will not go with him to that big house all alone! I can't! I just... I can't!" Living with the person responsible for my sister's death? Never!

But Mother is unusually firm. "Now, Katniss: you're not being fair!" she scolds. "Peeta has just given us our lives, our dignity! Besides, he must get lonely in that isolated house. It's the least you can do."

She's right, of course. I - _we_ \- are in his debt. And all debts must be paid. All trades must be fair. I turn back to Peeta, my gaze steely but newly confident in what I must do.

"I'll come live with you."

* * *

Upon packing what meager possessions I have, Peeta loads both them and me into his horse-drawn sleigh. We take off through the Seam, on the confidence that Mother will be able to move into her old home in the Merchant sector, and then pass through the gates of District 12 after the Peacekeepers check his papers.

"I already cleared you to leave the District and come with me," Peeta explains. Then, realizing what he must be implying, blushes and mutters, "In case you said yes."

It makes sense that Peeta would need to check out with the authorities that I could come with him. But why would he need to do this if I am meant to be...

No. I realize there is nothing sexual about this arrangement at all. He wants me to be a hired hand. A servant girl, to keep his house in order! Well, _that_ I can do - I've done it all my life, especially when my mother was depressed after my father's death. I suspect Peeta will want me to begin work at once.

But after passing through the winter trees, and even riding across the frozen lake itself, to the imposingly cozy mansion, Peeta helps me down from the sleigh and leads me inside.

The first room we tour is the kitchen. A fridge the size of our Seam front door is pushed against one wall. Not one, but two stoves stand at attention right next to it. In the center of the space is an ornate wooden table, with fruit stacked high in a bowl atop it.

I can most definitely work in a kitchen like this. But as I mean to cross towards the stove and learn how to use it, Peeta instead ushers me into a chair. "You just sit here," he tells me.

And then _he_ begins to cook. And cook. And cook. Before he is through, the baker's son has baked a steaming chicken pot pie, and peeled oranges - _oranges_! - before finally pouring the tallest glass of creamy milk I've ever seen. He then sets this masterpiece all before me. _Me_!

"Bon appetit!" he smiles.

I can only give a flattering smile back, at the realization that he cooked all this for me. And apparently does not mean to have any himself, for Peeta just sits across from me and watches. I take a bite of an orange first. I haven't even seen one since I was a little girl, when my father once brought a few back as an anniversary gift for my mother. The delicacy had cost him months of his wages that he had saved up. The tangy flavor explodes across my taste buds, and I feel my eyes sting with tears. Oh! How good it tastes!

The milk is so creamy and thick going down my gullet, I wish the glass would never empty! By the time I have finished the chicken pot pie, I have eaten more tonight than I have in years. _Years_.

I can only hope that, when I have to cook for Peeta starting probably tomorrow, that I can create confectionary delights as wonderful as he does.

"I'm so... full," I sigh, giggling at my choice of words. Peeta's face looks as though it could rival the sun's brightness.

"I'm glad you liked it. Why don't I show you to your room?"

My bedroom is the size of both mine and Prim's old room put together. And the bed is about the same width as the one my parents shared while they were married. A writing desk sits in one corner. In another, stands a dresser... which I come to realize is piled high with clothes.

"Are these from the Capitol?" I stare. "And how did you...?"

"No," Peeta shakes his head. "From Twelve. I went shopping for you. I..." He blushes. "Had to estimate your size. On a lot of the items."

I stare in disbelief. First of all, over how Peeta could possibly have noticed me enough, or even cared to notice me, that we would reasonably guess at my size. Second, his admittance to something of a shopping spree leaves me wondering: just how long did he plan to have me come live with him?

Before I can demand answers from him, Peeta softly says, "Goodnight, Katniss," and leaves to give me privacy.

After changing into some of the softest pajamas I have ever worn - in fact, the _only_ pair of real pajamas I have ever worn; I usually sleep in my underthings - I slip into the even more heavenly soft bed and fall into the deepest sleep I've had in years.


	8. Chapter 8: Kill with Kindness

**Chapter 8: Kill With Kindness**

Weeks pass. Winter continues apace. And in all that time, I have still not done one solitary chore for Peeta.

Every day, it's the same: I rise at a ridiculously late hour of the morning (at Peeta's, I have been getting more and more sleep than I have ever had in my life) to find the baker's son has already cooked me a hearty breakfast. Eggs, sausages, toast with jam piled high on my plate. And there are still two more lavish meals to come.

Following our breakfast, Peeta will literally send me outside to play in the snow. No work, no chores, no nothing. Just play in the snow. For these adventures, he showers me with gifts. First, there is a brand-new, gleaming pair of ice skates. Then, there is a blood-red fur coat, made from the finest furs and even embroidered with my name: Katniss. Hiking boots lined with rabbit's fur. Dressed comfortably, I am allowed to ice skate on the frozen lake or make snow angels to my heart's content. How strange. I have spent so much of my childhood and into my adult years providing for others and working to feed myself and my family, that I had almost forgotten how to just _relax_. How to have _fun_.

But the greatest gift of all is when Peeta sees me off into the snow one morning with an official-looking piece of paper. It's an ordinance, signed by Head Peacekeeper Cray, granting me permission to hunt on Peeta's spacious land around his house.

"You will not have to worry about sneaking around to hunt anymore," Peeta tells me quietly. "Whatever you can bring back can be cooked into a real feast or used for other purposes."

This is the first time I hug him. Serving as Peeta's official huntress, bringing him back game, is not much work for me, but it's work nonetheless. At least I can repay Peeta in some way - and maybe hunting will serve as a springboard to have him let me do more around the house.

"This is all so, so generous, Peeta," I tell him. "It's _too_ much, in fact!" It's true. Between the meals and the too large bed, the ice skates and coat, I do not know why I haven't refused any of Peeta's presents earlier. "But... why are you doing this? For me? Shouldn't this all be for your sweetheart?"

I have not seen Peeta with any other girl since his return from the Games. I don't even know her name. But it must be _someone_. A fellow Merchant girl, perhaps. Surely not me.

Peeta pulls back to look at me curiously. It's a strange look he gives me, but then he quickly averts his gaze and replies, "I don't know if she would want all this. I don't even know if she wants my love."

I stare, shocked. Almost instinctively, I feel a twinge of sympathy for this young man. He goes through hell and back for this girl, and it is uncertain if she even wants - has accepted - his attentions? His love?

If what I have received is even half of what I am sure Peeta would give his sweetheart if only given the chance, I cannot possibly fathom why anyone would not want Peeta's love. Suddenly, a desire bubbles up within me:

I wish I was Peeta's sweetheart. I wish I could spend time with this young man - play in the kitchen, frolic in the snow together, cuddle on the couch, or maybe even in bed... be his wife.

The fantasy takes on a life of its own. I imagine myself as Peeta's bride, a golden ring on my finger. I fantasize my belly swollen, cocooning Peeta's babies inside of me. Little babes with hair as light as the sun. With big green eyes, like mine. No! Perhaps blue eyes... eyes as blue as a summer sky...

I shake my head of the dream, and its departure nearly makes me weep. _Not for me, not for me, not for me_ , I have to chant to myself. Peeta would not make love to me like that. He would not fill my belly with his babies, bless me with the task of being their mother. Not a Seam girl. But even when I go to bed that night, the dream will not be denied...

* * *

 _I dream my stomach is laden with Peeta's unborn children. I am wrapped in my fur coat as I rub my abdomen, humming in contentment. I feel one baby kick in my womb, and I smile. Twins. The only thought better than being pregnant with Peeta's child is to be carrying two of them. Birthing two beautiful Mellark babies into the world._

 _The scene shifts, and there I lie in the snow, crying and gasping in pain. Yet it is a pain I_ _relish_ _. I crave what will emerge from me; the fruits of this, my labor..._

 _The first baby is actually a baby mockingjay bird. A chicklet. It chirps and tweets at me - its mother -and I nestle it into the palm of my hand. My other babe descends from human flesh. A baby girl with little tufts of hair, blonde as her father's on top of her head. And eyes as blue as the summer sky..._

 _As I nestle her in my arms, I realize with a cry that my baby looks a lot like Prim._

* * *

 **A/N: This is where there are some similarities to the** **fic When the Moon Fell in Love With the Sun. Not only is the writing superb and deeply romantic, it also creates some EPICALLY long, more detailed chapters! I highly recommend this one!**


	9. Chapter 9: The Mockingjay's Heart Bursts

**Chapter 9: The Mockingjay's Heart Bursts**

I have already been living with Peeta for many months. We have become fast friends. Peeta will generously join me in playing in the snow, or sometimes even take me to town to visit my mother whenever I wish. Ours is a life so idyllic, that I selfishly desire to have it all. To have this wonderful boy for myself, as my love.

Even if he loves another. Even if I know that, one day, he will cast me aside for the true woman of his dreams.

The thought of this fairytale, this dream on Earth, coming to an end leaves me sometimes bedridden. I will lie for hours and weep, bemoan my fate, anguish over what I want as mine, but still cannot have - and then berate myself for selfishly wanting him at all.

These melodramatic thoughts leave me unable to sleep one night, so that I rise from my bed and slip down to the kitchen. Peeta has spent many hours in here with me, teaching me his trade as a baker. We've cooked cheese buns, turkeys, pies and even some game I have managed to bring back from my adventures to the woods. Perhaps cooking a little snack for myself will help alleviate this ache in my stomach. The ache from where Peeta's babes do not dwell, will never dwell. The ache from where my heart has been ripped asunder, murdered by the phantasmal presence of Peeta's mystery sweetheart.

I stop in the doorway to see the kitchen is already flooded with light... and that Peeta now lies bent over one of the stoves, sobbing audibly. Another ache plagues my heart as I see him, the secret object of my desires, in pain. I gently approach him.

"What's wrong?"

Peeta sniffles. "I... I had a flashback. To the arena."

"Bad?" I query.

"Like the nightmares I used to have about Prim, just after she died."

I am agog. Stunned. For Peeta has revealed something heretofore unknown to me. _He's had nightmares about... my sister?_

Peeta has evidently realized that he has revealed too much, but figuring it is too late now, he presses on. Everything spills out.

"I'm not supposed to be here, Katniss. I'm not supposed to be alive. I had it all worked out - the perfect plan! I would protect Prim long enough to get us into the Top Two, to ensure our District had a Victor. Then, I would sacrifice myself. Or let Prim kill me. So she could win. So she could go home to you."

I gasp. I don't know how I know that Peeta speaks the truth, but he does. He was going to kill himself in the arena. Or make sure Prim won by some other means. Ensure that Prim came home to _me_.

I suddenly have a flashback to the arena myself, recalling something Peeta told Prim when she asked about his sweetheart: _'That's for me to know, and you to find out.'_

He planned for Prim to come home. He had planned it all along. What's more, he damn near succeeded. He probably would have, too, were it not for that snow leopard.

"She didn't deserve to die, Katniss," Peeta shakes his head. "And neither do you. That is why, today -" and he pulls a piece of parchment from his pocket. "I went into town. I managed to talk Cray into taking you out of the Reaping Ball. For the next two years. Until you age out. You will never, _never_ experience the horrors of the arena again - not as a tribute, nor as a spectator for someone you love."

A choked sob escapes me, and I have to cover my mouth with my hand. I burst into tears, and they stream down my face. For Peeta has just saved my life a second time.

"Katniss... please don't cry," Peeta whispers. His hand brushes my cheek.

It is automatic. I seize his palm and kiss it, bury my face into its warmth and close my tear-streaked eyes from the pleasure.

Peeta freezes, stiffens against me. He is obviously shocked.

"I... I have no words! I don't know what to say! What you did for her... and for me... thank you!" Overcome, I rush to him and kiss him on the cheek.

And then, I press my lips to his. I kiss his lips again and again, as though I cannot stop. And I can't. Nor do I want to. Because I have to make _damn_ sure he knows. His kindness has made me a willing prisoner of his heart forever. If my love - though unrequited - is the price I have to pay for his saving my life twice over, for being willing to give up his own for my sister's and thus my happiness, so be it.

I gasp out praise between each kiss. "You're so kind - and generous - and wonderful - and I love you!"

Reality suddenly invades. _Not for me, not for me, not for me._ I spring back, appalled at what I have just done. Terrified over what Peeta's reaction will no doubt be.

"I shouldn't have done that. I... I'm sorry. Your sweetheart - she is _damn_ lucky to have someone like you." There is no going back now. He must know that I am in love with him.

But Peeta is just smiling at me. Beaming, in fact. I peer closer, curious over his response to being kissed out of the blue, by someone who is not his sweetheart.

Unless...

I burst into tears once more as I finally see the light. " _Me_?" I croak, pointing to myself. "You love _me_? The gifts, the food, living here - your sweetheart... is _me_?"

Peeta nods slowly.

I begin to cry tears of happiness as the contours of my once impossible dream come into sharper focus. The family moments I wish to share with this man become less blurred; the babies I wish to have by him inch closer towards being flesh and blood. I CAN'T STAND IT ANY LONGER!

I throw myself into Peeta's arms. I kiss his lips sweetly, probing his mouth with my own. When he parts his lips for me, I slip my pink tongue in between the split and he moans. I smile against his mouth in triumph.

Peeta takes me in his arms, his body trembling with ache and want. I nearly cry again as I realize he has ached for me as much as I have ached for him. Such a lovely boy! Look at what he's done to me! Woken me up, and set me free!

Peeta's lips suddenly attack my neck, and I lean into him, my eyes fluttering shut.

"I... need... you... to..." and I moan as shamelessly as a whore. I feel Peeta's - OH MY GOD! It is _him_! I feel him wanting me - _me_!

"Oh, Peeta! I need you... to touch me! Please, please, just touch me!" And I guide his hands from where they are draped about my waist and place them on my breasts. He kneads them as though they are the bread he has handled all his life.

Peeta then gallingly gives my bum a squeeze before raising my leg to his waist.

"Take me to bed," I gasp, leaping at him so that my legs fold around his waist, my arms go across his neck and my lips crash against his.

We stagger up the stairs and into my room, falling back onto my giant bed that we could probably sleep in together all the time with no trouble. Hands tear at clothes and garments fall away. Soon, man is on top of woman, and I feel a painful pinch as Peeta pushes himself into me. The sharpness is so sudden, I cry out.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Peeta whispers desperately. I hold him in place when he tries to pull out.

"Stay," I whisper plaintively. Now that I have him, now that he's _mine_ , I never want him to be free of me, for fear that this is just a dream.

As Peeta begins to slide in and out of me, I nearly go delirious from the pleasure that soon overtakes me. Flipping us so that I now brazenly sit astride him, I bounce up and down on his cock without any shame or decorum.

"Oh, Katniss!"

I slither myself over his body, seeing what has been accentuated by the light of the moon: scars, all up and down Peeta's chest. His bellybutton is missing. My lover blushes.

"The gashes from the snow leopard... the doctors had to stitch me up to save me." He sounds almost ashamed. He shouldn't be, and I let him know so. I kiss every scar I can get my lips on, as though each is precious.

"Beautiful," I whisper. "Beautiful."

My eyes flit over to his wrist, and for the first time, I get a good look at that green handkerchief. I gasp. I should have known! It's mine! The one I gave Peeta as I kissed him in the Justice Building! The clue to the identity of his sweetheart was in plain sight all along!

I kiss Peeta deeply, our lips disappearing into each other, before tenderly breaking apart and then starting all over again.

That is how we fall asleep in each other's arms.


	10. Chapter 10: Angel Avenges, Devil Decrees

**Chapter 10: Angel Avenges; Devil Decrees**

The sun streams into my eyes, pulling me out of pleasant slumber. Shifting my head where it lies resting against Peeta's chest, I look up to see him gazing down at me with a smile as radiant as the sun. With the golden orb's rays backlighting him, he looks like an angel.

"Hmmmmm... good morning," I purr.

"Morning," and he bends down and kisses me.

"We made love last night," I moan against his lips.

"Yes, we did." I can feel him chuckle.

Giddy at his kiss, I bury my smile into my pillow. Oh, how I love him!

"Katniss," Peeta croons gently. "You don't need to be embarrassed."

"I'm not," I tell him earnestly. "I am so... blessed. Incredulous as to how a Victor like you could love a Seam girl like me."

We kiss again, and it is just getting heated when -

BANG! The door to my room bursts open. I let out a yelp and cover myself with the bedclothes. I hear a roar of fright. It sounds like a man.

"Haymitch! What are you doing here?" Peeta demands.

"To see you, of course! I just didn't expect you to be screwing Prim's sister." The Victor of the 50th Hunger Games winks at me. "Didn't take you to be the going-to-bed type, sweetheart."

I scowl at my lover's mentor, but he ignores me, now pointing at Peeta.

"You: out of bed. Now. And both of you - get dressed. There's something you need to see."

As soon as we have collected ourselves, Peeta and I race downstairs, joining Haymitch by the TV. It is turned to footage of some far-away District burning. And in one shot, I can see a protestor.

Holding up a cardboard cut-out of my sister's _face_.

My jaw drops. How could any of this be on TV? The Capitol would never allow it. "What is this?"

"Bootlegged news footage. I jiggled the TV onto a remote frequency. It's showing uprisings. And they're happening all over the Districts. All over Panem."

"How many?" Peeta stares.

"Most of them. Hydroelectric dam down in 5. The citizens of 8 have taken over all the textile factories. The people are angry, Peeta. They have started a rebellion..." He turns to me. "...and your sister's death may have sparked it."

It is almost impossible to believe. How could my sweet, innocent little sister have inspired people to rise up against the government for the first time in three-quarters of a century?

Peeta gets a terrified look in his eyes, which now dart down a darkened hallway off to one side of the sitting room. At the end of it is a solitary room with a Capitol telephone. Peeta has to have it, so the Capitol can monitor him. He almost never goes in there.

Haymitch seems to have followed both Peeta's gaze and his line of thinking. The old drunk points between me and him. "Whatever you two have: hide it. I know you're in love, but hide it. If Snow or anyone else in the Capitol gets wind of your little romance, it could be used against Peeta."

With the telephone installed in here, I suddenly wonder if it might be too late to hide _anything_. What if this entire mansion is bugged? I would not put it past Snow or any of his acolytes.

* * *

Haymitch's warning could not be more well-timed. In a matter of days, Peeta will be embarking on his Victory Tour. To protect me, Peeta decides to leave me at home for my own safety, though I can tell he does not want to. He needs me. But it will not do for me to get involved much more than I already am.

After Peeta and Haymitch leave, I try to calm my thoughts by busying myself around the mansion, doing every little chore Peeta won't allow me to do when he's here. When there is nothing left to cook or clean, I take the horse and sleigh out of the stable, then ride into District 12 to visit with my mother. She is very happy in her family's old home and has established a successful apothecary business in addition to her Healing practices. She has enough money to be considered a Merchant.

On most nights, whether with Mother or alone at home, I watch TV coverage of Peeta's Victory Tour. At every stop, the crowds are restless, and I wonder if riots will break out. Sensing the discontent, Peeta tries to use his speeches to desperately placate the Districts, but his words only seem to make them angrier. Not at him, no. At the Capitol. At Snow's regime.

I fear for the love of my life.

* * *

Peeta is relieved to return to me after the Tour. Though he does not say anything, I can tell he has deemed the experience a total failure. We distract ourselves by cuddling, kissing, having sex and just being together, as winter melts into spring. Occasionally, Haymitch will come up from town and his own house in Victors' Village. Most often, his visits are just in time for dinner.

So, it is one spring evening, with the three of us gathered around Peeta's kitchen table, when we hear the TV come on of its own accord in the next room. Mandatory programming. Curious, we leave our seats to find out what it could be. We see President Snow on the screen.

"This is the 75th year of the Hunger Games," he is announcing. "As such, we will be honoring our Third Quarter Quell."

The Quarter Quells are a special edition of the Games held every 25 years. I don't know much about the other two except that District 12's very own Haymitch Abernathy won the crown the last time it was held. The event seems rather well-timed at the moment, since several districts are rebelling right now.

President Snow begins to recite the past Quarter Quell themes. "On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because it was their choice to initiate violence, each District was made to hold a special election, and vote on the tributes who would represent it."

How awful. Picking the kids who had to go. Being turned over by your own friends and perhaps even family must have been a far greater betrayal than the Reaping Ball plucking you from obscurity.

"A young man from District 8 - Indigo Weaver - won that year," Haymitch tells Peeta and I somberly. "He's a good friend of mine."

Snow now continues: "On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen, the districts were required to send twice as many tributes."

I imagine facing a field of 47 instead of 23. A bloodier Cornucopia fight, more gruesome deaths... how did Haymitch get to be the last one alive?

The President now procures a card from a beautifully carved wooden box. "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, not even with twice the strength, the tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of Victors. And there will be twice as many tributes as normal."

"ARGGH!" Haymitch throws a bottle of liquor at the TV.

"NOOOOOO!" I wail, burying my face in Peeta's shirtfront. Just when I have found love with him, he will be taken away. I can't lose him the way I lost my sister; I just can't!

But the odds are not in our favor. There have been 74 Victors throughout Hunger Games history. 59 are still alive. And now 48 of them will be thrown back into the arena to punish the district's rising hubris.

Presumably, there will be four Victors from each District. Except District 12 has only ever had three Victors, and Duke Vedaldi has been dead for years. Will there only be 46 Victors? Probably not - I bet two more will be chosen from some more fortunate Career district to make up for the slack on our end. And even then, District 12 will have no female Victor. We've never had one - ever.

Drained of all energy and crestfallen, Haymitch tells Peeta to take me up to bed. We fall asleep that night, holding each other and drowning in our own tears.

* * *

 **A/N: After planning through Chapter 9, I was briefly unsure how to end the story. But then, I got the idea for a reversal in the Quell. How is it a reversal? Stay tuned...**


	11. Chapter 11: Gladiators Fed to Dogs

**Chapter 11: Gladiators Fed to Dogs**

The day of the Reaping dawns sticky and humid. Haymitch Abernathy and Peeta Mellark are Reaped to represent District 12 in the 75th Annual Hunger Games without much fanfare. With the distinct possibility of never seeing my true love again, I pretty much force my way onto the train behind Effie Trinket. Peeta acquiesces because he must really need the support right now, and I promise to give him everything that he needs, and more.

A few days later, we arrive in the Capitol. The sight of citizens with tattoos, body piercings and oddly colored skin throws me at first as Peeta guides me through the crowds with a steady hand. Camera bulbs flash in my face as the paparazzi take my picture, curious as to who Peeta Mellark the Leopard Killer's lady friend might be. The attention physically unnerves me, and I jolt.

"Just keep staring straight ahead," Peeta advises me. "The people here can be a little eccentric. Try not to read too much into it."

It certainly is an eccentric culture - too diametrically opposed to the frugal one I'm used to. Or _was_ used to, until Peeta swept me off my feet and carried me away in style, rescued me from poverty.

At the Tribute Parade, Peeta introduces me to some of his fellow Victors. Some he met soon after being inducted into their ranks. Others he made acquaintance of while on his Victory Tour. All the reaped Victors make a splash during the Parade, especially Peeta and Haymitch. As soon as President Snow has given his address, we are all whisked into the Tribute Training Center.

Training begins first thing the next morning, continuing over the next three days. While Peeta and Haymitch prepare for the arena, I spend time in the District 12 entourage quarters with Effie. Our escort may be a little snooty over matters of decor and taste, but she is friendly enough once I get to know her. Having someone to pass the time with makes the next three days fly by.

On the final evening, I gather with the Victors, Effie and the stylists as Caesar announces the Gamemaker Training scores. When he gets to District 12, Peeta and Haymitch makes Hunger Games history, each pulling a perfect score. The old drunk seems to think this was done to put deliberate targets on their backs, and I begin to fear that both of Twelve's heroes may die in that arena. I hold Peeta a little tighter in bed afterwards.

The next night features the interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Victor after Victor after Victor is interviewed, each of them challenging the betrayal to the arena for a second time in their own clever way. By the time Haymitch is called, the audience is an absolute wreck.

"So: Haymitch," a clearly stressed Caesar begins. "You are the last person to have won a Quarter Quell. And you went into an arena with 47 other tributes, same as this time. Do you think you have what it takes to defend your title?"

Haymitch just smirks. "I'll stand by what I said in our last interview 25 years ago, Caesar. I figure my odds will be roughly the same."

This gets a desperately needed laugh out of the audience, but the joyfulness does not last long. Haymitch puts his own spin on the Quell by wishing that he could have saved more children from death over the years. By the time his interview expires, the audience is on edge once more.

The sight of my lover, bedecked in his iconic leopard skin, practically causes a riot, as everyone realizes they will lose their newest Victor.

"Peeta: it must be a surprise, being back here again. I'm sure your sweetheart is devastated for you," Caesar guesses somberly.

"Yes, Caesar," Peeta sighs heavily. "Katniss Everdeen is very worried for me right now."

There is a gasp throughout the audience as Peeta finally reveals the identity of his mysterious sweetheart.

"Katniss Everdeen? Not the sister of Primrose Everdeen, your district partner?" Caesar practically squeaks, and from the look in his eyes, I can he tell he now knows what my sister has come to mean for the rebels.

"Yes. I have gotten to spend a wonderful year with her, gotten to be in love for the first time. And I wouldn't have any regrets at all if... if it weren't..." his voice falters.

"For what? If it weren't for what?" Caesar prods, sticking the microphone in Peeta's face.

"If it weren't for the baby."

From where I am comfortably watching TV in the District 12 suite, my jaw drops. Baby? There's no baby! But, oh, how I wish there was! Maybe a unborn child, an innocent fetus, would stop this madness.

Evidently, the audience must think so, too, for there are now audible, distinct shouts demanding that the Quell be cancelled.

"What?!"

"Baby?!"

"Stop the Games! Stop the Games!"

Peeta silently returns to his place. As the Panem anthem cranks up to full blast, the Victors suddenly join hands in a stunning, spontaneous display of solidarity. The camera crews try to cut out the feed, but too late:

All of Panem has seen.

* * *

Peeta and I hold each other tighter than we ever have before that night. After making frantic, emotional love in bed, we press our naked bodies together and just stare out into the darkness beyond. A darkness that gradually lightens with each passing hour, signifying how quickly Peeta's life - his freedom - is slipping away.

"Oh, I wish I could go with you!" I whisper, kissing Peeta's neck.

"You _will_ be with me," Peeta smiles, tapping the spot directly over his heart. "I would go into that damn arena again and again for you, just as long as you were there waiting when I got out."

"Hmmmmm..." I smile, snuggling closer into his embrace. There is a moment of blissful silence, and then:

"Peeta?"

"Huh?"

"If... if my pregnancy was real... I would consider it the honor of my life to have your child." And I mean it. To be the mother of Peeta Mellark's baby, to carry it to term and raise it, would be the most precious title ever conferred upon me.

Peeta kisses me passionately in gratitude.


	12. Chapter 12: Master and Apprentice

**Chapter 12: Master and Apprentice**

Effie interrupts our peaceful slumber with her godforsaken 'Big, big, big day!' spiel. Peeta reacts to it as though he is a trained dog, rising to leave the bed. I clutch at him.

"No," I whine. "I won't let them take you from me!"

"Katniss," and his voice is so soft, I raise my eyes to his. Peeta kisses me one last time and I moan, my fingers sinking into his hair. "I have to go."

"You'd better come out alive," I hiss lustily. I know that my selfish wants mean the death of 47 other people, including his mentor, but I don't care. I can't lose him like I lost Prim.

He nods his head. Our clasped fingers brush apart slowly, painfully, and he leaves the room.

I busy myself by showering and getting dressed. I have no idea what to do now. I am not a Victor, nor an escort. Just one Victor's girlfriend. Distracting myself from thinking about Peeta and Haymitch being prepped for the arena, I just lie on my bed. I have almost fallen asleep when there is a knock on my door.

"Katniss, dear? Would you like to come watch the Games with me? They're about to start." Effie's voice rings through the wood.

I would rather do a hundred other things than watch my boyfriend possibly die, but I don't want to be rude. Effie has been so kind to me in her own unique way, and she is a friend of Peeta. "Just coming."

When I emerge from my room, Effie leads me down in the elevators to the main floor of the Training Center. After a twist and turn of hallways, she leads me to a spacious room completely empty. A flatscreen TV is propped on one wall.

"We can watch wherever we like. And I figured you would prefer to be as alone as possible."

I appreciate Effie's consideration. Suddenly, I hear raucous laughter so loud, it comes through the walls. Effie sighs.

"But I can't guarantee it won't be quiet. The Mentor's Bar is next door."

Remembering the numbers, I do the math in my head. If the place is that loud with only 11 people in it, I can't even imagine how it sounds on normal years with dozens of more souls.

Just before the clock strikes ten, Effie turns on the TV. Coverage is just beginning. Like last year, we can see the Victors rising up into the arena from someone's particular point of view. As soon as I get a look, my stomach drops.

There is nothing but sand, sand, sand. Desert - as far as the eye can see. At the top of a particularly imposing dune lies the Cornucopia. Just to reach the horn will expend most of the tributes' energy, making them too weak to fight. I don't want to watch the all-out massacre that I am sure will be this year's Bloodbath.

With each shot of the arena, I scan the faces on the screen for some sign of Peeta or Haymitch. The sheer number of pedestals astounds me, and I wonder if the old drunk is having PTSD; he's the only Victor who has been in an arena with this many people and lived to tell about it.

Just as the gong sounds, the cameras finally give me a shot of my love. Peeta springs off the pedestal. Surprisingly, he goes fast, but not too fast. Not a sprint, as most tributes do, but rather a light jog.

That changes as he begins his ascent up the dune and the climb steepens. All at once, Peeta attacks the incline, now breaking into a sprint. Exploding over the rim of the top, he is one of the first tributes to reach the horn.

"Smart strategy. Not expending all his energy right away," Effie observes. I smile.

Not everyone has it as easy as Peeta. Some spring off their pedestals so quickly that by the time they reach the hard incline, they've run out of gas. Others slip and fall in the sand, their feet sinking into the substance so that it must feel like they're trying to navigate molasses.

Thankfully, Haymitch is one of the few who does not have any trouble. He is actually second behind Peeta to reach the horn, using the same running technique my boyfriend did. Considering that the old man abused his body with alcohol for decades and decades, I am rather impressed at his strength and endurance.

"All right! It worked!" Haymitch grins. "Let's start taking our pick of the supplies. We haven't much time!"

Master and apprentice scramble around, searching for anything useful. They both realize quickly -

"Weapons! Nothing but weapons!" Peeta calls. He's right - there's not a backpack to be had in the whole horn. And more worriedly...

No canteens.

"Looks like our pickings have been made _for_ us!" Haymitch hollers. "Grab what you need and let's go! We're about to have company!"

A few Career Victors - I actually recognize them by name, as Brutus Gunn and Ron Stafford - are struggling the last few feet up the dune.

Armed with spears and knives and a few other weapons that might be useful, Peeta and Haymitch spend their last few precious minutes of alone time circling the top of the dune. Peeta finally spies a straight path to the bottom with no tributes in their way. The pair half-run, half-tumble down the dune, taking off into the distance when they hit flat ground. Moments later, the first Careers and a few other Victors reach the horn, and the cries of battle are at last heard. As soon as weapons get into hands, blood is shed around the Cornucopia before even spilling out along the slopes of the dune. The sand runs red with blood.

Meanwhile, the District 12 Victors are continuing in the same direction from which they left the Cornucopia. Except -

"Where should we go?" Peeta asks.

"I don't know, Peeta, where do you think we should go - the _trees_?" Haymitch asks sarcastically. "There's nothing _here_!" It's true - no matter which way you turn, the desert looks uniform. No trees. No water. Not even so much as a scraggly bush. How is _anyone_ supposed to survive in an arena where you have literally nothing but an artificial horn as a landmark?

But it turns out, that _isn't_ the only landmark. After a few minutes of aimless walking, Peeta points.

"There!" He and Haymitch run up to a small clump of cactus - cacti. The old drunk stops short.

"We can't eat _that_!" he whines. "Besides, I'm not even hungry yet! I'm _thirsty_!"

Peeta chuckles. "I'm not asking you to eat it, old man. In fact, we _can_ drink from these. Give me your knife." Effie and I watch as he hacks off the sharp thorns and bramble before cutting into the stem itself. _Water_ actually trickles out. Peeta and Haymitch gulp down whatever they can get, drop by greedy drop.

"At least it's _something_ ," Haymitch grumbles gruffly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and then actually licking the dewey residue off that. "I didn't even know we could _get_ water from cacti. Where'd you learn that?"

Peeta smiles. "Prim. Her tutorials on edible plants were a godsend, before my first Games."

I grin right along with him, even as my eyes sting with tears thinking of my precious little sister.

The cannons start sounding just then. The Bloodbath must finally be over. Cannon after cannon after cannon. It seems like an eternity before they stop.

"How many? I lost count," Haymitch demands.

Peeta only grins sheepishly. "So did I, Haymitch. I'm not used to hearing so many. Only _you_ can attest to that."

But Effie and I counted. Carefully. We're pretty sure we reached 23 before the cannons stopped. Almost half gone. In a normal year, it would make for the shortest Hunger Games ever; the Victor would already be known. I don't think I've ever even seen a Games that didn't last for at least a day or two.

"Did that many die in Haymitch's Quell?" I ask Effie.

She purses her lips. "No, I don't think so. But the number was still high, I can tell you that. 18, I think? That year?"

All the rest of that day, Peeta and Haymitch stay by their clump of cacti. Occasionally, they will plunder the plants for their water. It's hardly an oasis - hell, it barely even counts as a point of reference! - but in the desert, this is probably as good a map/campsite/reprieve as they're gonna get.

The sun moves at an unbelievably slow pace through the sky. As it marks its descent towards the horizon, more cannons are heard periodically. I forget to count how many. At last the sun sets, and the Panem anthem appears in the sky to announce the dead.

I don't bother learning the dead's names or faces. I only want to know how many perished. After a close tabulation, I realize that 30 Victors have gone down in one day. Less than a day, even.

"Eighteen still alive," Haymitch mumbles. He must be thinking of his first Games, when the body count was actually in perfect reverse. He turns back to Peeta. "Get some sleep, my young apprentice. I'll keep watch, and we'll figure out where we go from here in the morning."

Peeta smirks at the nickname. "Yes, _Master_ ," he drawls, bunching up the light jacket he wore into the arena and making it into a bedroll. It'll be at least some comfort, since the rest of his body will be lying on the itchy sand.

It's at this point that Effie sends me off to bed, promising that she'll wake me if anything unusual happens during the night. I do not hear much noise from the Mentor's Bar next door as I leave. What must those 11 Victors be thinking? Do they actually wish they were in their with their compatriots, even it meant killing each other? If there is such longing, it can't be as intense as what I feel. Harsh desert or not, never mind that I'm not a Victor, I would give anything to be in there with my boyfriend. My Peeta. To hold him in my arms and promise that he will emerge alive.

For him to emerge in any other way is nearly unthinkable.

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter accomplishes two things: one, there is a motif of heat with the desert arena that balances the cold of the snow arena. Also, I have always wondered how Peeta and Haymitch would have interacted if thrown into the Quell together. REVIEW!**


	13. Chapter 13: Romantic Partner Looking In

**Chapter 13: Romantic Partner Looking In**

I rise early, as the sun is just peeking over the horizon. I take the quickest shower in my life, get dressed and race downstairs to the lounge where Effie and I watched the day before. The District 12 escort is still on the couch just as I left her. As I walk in, I can see Caesar recapping events from the previous night, saying,"We had a few more casualties..."

I whirl on Effie in panic and anger. "You said you were going to wake me if anything bad happened!"

She stiffens at what must be my obvious lack of manners. "Nothing _bad_ happened, Katniss. At least not to Peeta and Haymitch. Hardly _anything_ happened, really - the Gamemakers just dropped the temperature really low throughout the night and some tributes died from hypothermia and the wind chill."

I sit next to her, intrigued. "How many?"

"Three, I'm pretty sure. But Haymitch and Peeta made it through, don't worry."

In fact, the cameras now cut away to the District 12 Victors. They look to be packing up what little possessions they have and preparing to leave their campsite. Peeta is even storing away the last of the cacti plants that he has apparently uprooted from the ground, no doubt for any water they might still glean in the future.

Suddenly, there is a rumble from somewhere in the distance. Both men start.

"What the hell was that?" Haymitch growls.

"Whatever it is, nothing good," Peeta answers.

Haymitch walks a brief distance to the top of a low dune, placing a hand against his brow to block out the sun. After squinting for a bit, he freezes, and his eyes widen.

"RUN, boy!" he roars. Peeta leaps about a foot in the air at his voice, and grows even more disturbed as Haymitch practically sprints back to him.

"Haymitch, what -?"

"Just shut up! Run, you son-of-a-bitch! RUN!"

When the cameras finally cut away to whatever it is Haymitch has seen, my heart nearly goes into my throat: a wall of sand, rolling across the plains with nothing to halt its path. A sandstorm, heading right for our friends!

Peeta has likely been filled in on this detail as the men go along, for he now sprints at a pretty good pace. But the real Herculean effort goes to Haymitch, who somehow manages to match his much-younger protégé stride for stride. Still, the tsunami-high wave of sand rolls on, and is even gaining.

"We can't outrun it, Haymitch!" Peeta bellows over the wind.

"In that case, it's been a pleasure Gaming with ya, son!" Haymitch hollers back.

But my lover is not about to give up. Indeed, by the look on his face, an idea has gone off in his head.

"Haymitch! I need you to do exactly what I tell you! Understand? Take off your jacket!"

"What?"

"Just take it off! Then lie down on the sand, and cover your body with it - especially your face!"

Haymitch sighs. "I hope I live to regret this!" He starts shedding his jacket.

Teacher and pupil then lie flat on their backs in the sand, covering as much of their bodies as possible with the jackets. I cannot believe it - are they actually accepting death on their own terms?

I watch in horror as the wave of sand finally overtakes the pair, burying them alive beneath the grainy surface.

* * *

About 30 minutes later, the Gamemaker-induced sandstorm abates until there is hardly a whistle upon the wind. Cameras cut back and forth, searching for any surviving tributes, but so far, none are to be seen. All is deathly quiet. Then, suddenly -

POW! A human hand bursts from the mountains of yellow earth. It then steadily digs itself out until the rest of a moving body emerges, dragging another body caked in sand behind it. I gasp and nearly weep with joy. It's Peeta and Haymitch!

"Oh my god, Effie! THEY MADE IT!" I squeal. Effie is just as ecstatic, though also shocked and a little puzzled.

"But, how -?"

Caesar Flickerman provides us with the answer. Thanks to Peeta's ingenious idea with the jackets, he and Haymitch managed to create air pockets for themselves through which to breathe. Then, maintaining those, the two men proceeded to dig themselves out.

My euphoria suddenly turns into panic. There is almost no way other tributes came up with such an idea to survive the sandstorm. For one thing, there is a significant lack of supplies to use as a recourse. No trees to climb. And what weapons could possibly help you dig your way out of a pile of sand? Did I see any shovels in the Cornucopia? If no other tributes survived...

"Oh, Effie, are they the only two left? They won't have to kill each other, will they?"

Effie shakes her head. "No. Look."

Coverage quickly determines that the sandstorm claimed six more lives. What is left of the Career pack naturally stayed at the Cornucopia, scaling the horn as high ground away from the sand. Even then, though, the new layers of grainy earth almost covered the horn completely, except for the tippy-top right at the Careers' feet. A few other Victors actually managed to outrun the wave.

I try to do the math in my head. Six lost in the sandstorm - plus three from cold the night before. How many does that leave...?

"INCOMING!" Haymitch's cry snaps me out of my thoughts; I watch in horror as a yellow figure attacks my lover and the old drunk. I cannot make out who the assailant is - only that he must have gotten caught in the sandstorm and dug himself free like our guys did.

Haymitch and the Yellow Figure roll around in the sand, the latter trying to push a knife down onto the drunk's face. Haymitch shows remarkable strength in keeping the blade at bay.

Peeta gets to his feet, knocked to the ground by a knife swipe that just grazed him in the side. Seeing the struggle, he seizes his spear, slips up behind Haymitch's attacker, and plunges the spear tip right through the top of his skull. Yellow Figure topples over, and the cannon fires. BOOM.

I cover my choked sob of relief, as I watch a winded Peeta pull an equally winded Haymitch to his feet.

"Thanks, kiddo."

"Don't mention it, old man."

Effie lets out a nervous chuckle, obviously still recovering from the attack.

Haymitch notices Peeta's flesh wound. "Come on, let's get some covering for that."

As the pair sacrifice a piece of Haymitch's jacket to make a tourniquet, Caesar reveals that their felled assailant was Gloss Ritchson - a male Career from District 1. Further, his death signals the Final Eight tributes. They are:

Augustus Braun - District 1

Brutus Gunn - District 2

Ron Stafford - District 4

Porter Millicent Tripp - District 5

Johanna Mason - District 7

Tule Roxen - District 10

Haymitch Abernathy - District 12

Peeta Mellark - District 12

Effie flashes me a winning smile. "You'd better be ready for an interview, dear. Everyone will want to meet the most recent Victor's girlfriend."

I shakily smile back.

* * *

Indeed, that very night, I am summoned to the Capitol studios to conduct an interview with Caesar Flickerman. I am surprised to learn that Effie was also invited - to represent Haymitch, as the older Victor apparently has no living family or close friends to interview. Then again, I suppose Effie _does_ count as a friend - she and Haymitch banter a lot, but otherwise get along fine.

The people whom I actually expect to see at the interviews, but don't, are the rest of the Mellarks. They were interviewed last year - isn't it important for them to be featured since their son has made it into the Final Eight for two consecutive years?

As I sit down with Caesar, however, I am dismayed to discover that this interview will be all about me, me, me - and how I am connected to Peeta.

"So, Katniss - you are Peeta Mellark's mysterious sweetheart," the host opens.

I smile shyly. "Mistress might be a better word, Caesar."

"Ho, ho! A love triangle, have we?" Caesar chortles.

"No, no!" I cry, panicked as I realize my mistaken choice of words. "What I meant was... romantic partner." There. That seems clear enough.

"But perhaps his wife, one day? Hmmm?"

"God, I hope so, Caesar," I sigh.

"Hear that, viewers? That right there is the sound of a woman carried away by love. A poor, ordinary girl from the Seam, swept off her feet by her handsome and dashing Victor. We can only pray that Peeta Mellark wins so you both can live happily ever after. Do you think he can win, Katniss?"

"He's won before. And he has a reigning Quarter Quell champion as his mentor and ally. I definitely think Peeta can win!"

"And we wish him all the best, Katniss Everdeen! I think I speak for all of Panem when I say: our hearts go with yours."


	14. Chapter 14: Out of the Wasteland

**Chapter 14: Out of the Wasteland**

I was so tired after my interview with Caesar that I went right to bed. And apparently slept late, too, for I wake up to Effie shaking me.

"What? What happened?" I ask, panicking as I spring out of bed.

"Fine. They're both fine. But you did miss some action."

The action doesn't involve Haymitch or Peeta, however. As Effie and I re-enter the lounge, Caesar is showing a replay of a battle between the three women left in the arena: Porter Millicent Tripp, Johanna Mason and Tule Roxen. The first is a woman from District 5. The Victor of the 38th Hunger Games and in her mid-50s, she received a significant spinal injury in her first arena that causes her to wear a neck brace. She goes down quickly against the axe of Johanna Mason, who won the 71st Games by pretending to be a weakling until only a handful of tributes were left. Tule Roxen quickly follows, if for no other reason than she is elderly - easily in her late sixties. It looks as though Johanna will walk away from this alive, when suddenly she goes down with a howl of pain. A knife is in her leg - and then its owner rises like a ghost from the sand and tackles her, strangling her to death. It turns out to be Ron Stafford of District 4.

"There's five left - and they're all men," Effie sniffs. "Augustus, Brutus, Ron, Haymitch and Peeta."

"And only on the third day?" I gasp.

"Katniss, this arena is particularly brutal. Also, I have heard... concerning things from some of my colleagues."

I lean forward, even as I cannot bear to know the answer. "What sort of things?"

"This Quell is very unpopular. It has been from the moment it was announced. I have a feeling the Gamemakers want to crown a Victor quickly and without much fuss."

She does not say anything more, but I know she does not need to. It's all implied: the rebellion is getting worse. And if President Snow blames my sister for indirectly starting it...

"He'll try to rig the Games," I think aloud. Effie frowns. "The President is going to rig the Games to make sure one of the Careers win. Because if District 12 does -" I don't need to go on; I can tell by the look in Effie's eyes that she can finish my train of thought. I scramble to my feet as I suddenly realize a possible solution to my still unconfirmed problem.

"Who's working the sponsors for us? We have to get sponsors, Effie! We should have done it _days_ ago! Let's get into that Mentors' Bar!" I try to pull the escort to her feet, but she stops me.

"Katniss, we can't! Ever since the Final Eight was announced, sponsor gifts have been completely discontinued. Not even the mentors can get anything to their tributes, never mind us."

I growl in frustration. That has never been a rule until now. And I have a feeling President Snow made it up to make sure Haymitch and Peeta would not get any assistance if they made it this far.

There is nothing else for Effie and I to do but wait for this Petri dish of testosterone that is the arena to drop from five men to just one.

* * *

The third day passes with no other developments, and the faces of the three women appear in the sky. With no firewood and no flint, Haymitch and Peeta cannot make a fire, huddling together for warmth as the temperature in the arena drops dangerously low. The wind whistles ominously.

"F-five of us left..." Haymitch's teeth chatter as he talks. "I c-can't t-take much m-more of this!"

"Hang tough, old man!" Peeta growls. "Just a couple of Careers left! We can do this - you and me!"

Somehow, the pair make it through the night. As the sky is beginning to gray, Claudius Templesmith's voice booms through the arena: "Attention, tributes, attention: commencing at sunrise, there will be a Feast at the Cornucopia. We all know you desperately need supplies. And we plan to be... generous hosts."

Older man and younger man look at each other.

"I don't want to kill you, Haymitch, if it comes to that," Peeta says slowly. "So, if you want to split up now, I... I'm OK with it."

"No," Haymitch growls, gripping my lover's arm. "I didn't spend 24 years of my _goddamn_ life training kids for slaughter, only to off the one person I have to show for it! We stick together - to the end."

Peeta stares at him, and I can see his eyes actually filling with tears. And I realize that this is the closest that gruff, cantankerous Haymitch will ever get to saying _'I love you'_ to his pupil.

"All right, old friend. Let's go help District 12 defend its Quell title!"

* * *

Every inch that the desert sun climbs into the sky tightens the foreboding noose around my heart. The rest of the Capitol - indeed, the whole of Panem - is one edge, waiting to see which of the five men will emerge as the Victor of Victors.

As a group, they skew towards the young side. After Peeta's tender age of 17, there is Ron Stafford from District 4. Victor of the 68th Hunger Games, he won after the Career alliance refused to cede to his leadership. He's only 25. Then there is Augustus Braun from District 1. Nicknamed the Cavalier Career, he won the year before Ron, after killing most of the field, including all of his Career allies. He's 26 and in incredible shape.

Haymitch is next in age, at barely 41. Everyone has heard his legendary story. Brutus Gunn from District 2 rounds out the group. In his late 40s, he is absolutely stacked. I don't remember how he won his Games, only that it was probably brutal.

The screens show Haymitch and Peeta now, trudging towards the Cornucopia. Waiting for them are the three Careers. Upon seeing them, Brutus chortles.

"It's only District 12, boys! Easy pickings, then the _real_ fun begins!"

I seethe at his words. I admit, both look worse for wear, covered in sand and parched for water. But so are the other three men. And yes, Haymitch does look old. But he's still strong - he proved it against Gloss! And at such a youthful age, Peeta's even stronger!

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Brutus," Haymitch says quietly.

"Why don't you and your boy show us whatcha got, then, Abernathy?" Augustus snarls. There's a hungry look in his eyes, and I do not like how he's eyeing my boyfriend as though he is a piece of meat.

As the five face each other, sunrise officially arrives. Or it must, because the sand begins to rumble and shake. At first I panic, thinking it's a Gamemaker trap, an earthquake meant to swallow them all save one. But no, a table is now rising out of the sand.

And it's piled high with bowls, jugs and bottles of water.

All five men look at each other. Ron Stafford is the first to make a mistake.

"I'm the leader! I get first dibs!" He dives desperately for the nearest jug and seizes it. But only a second later, Brutus snatches for it. After some grappling, the District 2 bodybuilder wrenches the jug away - and cracks it over Ron's head. Clay shards go everywhere, along with trails of spilled water... and spilled blood.

BOOM.

The Final Four look at Ron's crumpled body. Then they look at each other.

There is a mad dive for the table and any water on it. The four Victors are literally fighting over the precious liquid, to the point that weapons are soon drawn.

Just as the Gamemakers surely wanted.

Brutus whips out a spear as he tries to bully Haymitch away from his perceived "share." Naturally, said share takes up the entire table. Seeing the threat to his mentor, Peeta actually manages to tackle Brutus from in front and pin him down onto the furniture's wood before stabbing his heart with a knife. BOOM.

Letting out a bellowing roar of frustration, Augustus literally upends the entire table, sending Peeta, Brutus's body and any remaining water containers flying. The clay jugs and bowls shatter, their contents seeping into the hot sand and becoming quickly absorbed. The plastic bottles start rolling away, the remaining three tributes scrambling after them.

This is the finale to the Hunger Games - a Quarter Quell! And the only show the audience is getting is a shitshow. A free-for-all between grown men, over nothing but parched water, parched tongues and rapidly disappearing means for quenching either.

The cameras now show Haymitch and Augustus struggling for one of the last remaining water bottles. I tense. _Haymitch... not a good idea..._ But even if it isn't liquor, the old drunk wants a sip, and damn it if anyone tries to stop him.

Unfortunately, that someone is Augustus Braun.

Finally having had enough, the much younger Career seizes Haymitch in a headlock. Before anyone can scream, he snaps the District 12 Victor's neck like a twig.

BOOM.

"NOOOOOOO!" Effie wails.

"HAYMITCH!" Peeta yells. He scrambles to his feet, ignoring the water bottle he was chasing.

Augustus shakily gets to his feet; his battle with Haymitch has left him surprisingly winded.

"It's over now, kid. Old Abernathy can't save you. I'm amazed you got this far as it is. I'll give your hot piece-of-ass girlfriend my regards when I get out!"

"ARGGHHHHH!" Peeta lunges at Augustus like a wild animal, actually taking the Career by surprise. And I realize that this last enemy just made a crucial error. If there is one thing that Peeta values over even basic sustenance, it's his love for me.

That love and Augustus's threat to it is the undoing of Panem's Favorite Son, as Peeta seizes Augustus by the hair and begins to bash his head against the overturned table again and again. And again. And _again_. He does it even after blood has already started pooling from Augustus's skull, even after the final cannon fires, even as Claudius Templesmith bellows over Capitol cheers in the background:

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winner of the 75th Annual Hunger Games, the third Quarter Quell - Peeta Mellark of District 12! I give you... the Victor of Victors!"

* * *

 **A/N: We know about some of the Victors and their backstories from Catching Fire, but there are others whom we know nothing about. Using a definitive list of Victors from pictures of the unused podiums on the set of Mockingjay, I pulled out a few names and created backstories. Porter Millicent Tripp and Augustus Braun are actually classified as canon on Hunger Games Wiki, even though their names are not displayed on the podiums.**

 **Like it so far? Keep REVIEWING!**


	15. Chapter 15: Adam and Eve

**Chapter 15: Adam and Eve**

Effie hustles me from the lounge even before the closing coverage has begun. We make it onto a hovercraft - the very one that will extract Peeta from the arena.

As soon as my boyfriend is removed from the ladder, he collapses from what must be heat exhaustion.

"We need some water! Get some water over here!" bellows Plutarch Heavensbee, the Head Gamemaker who joined us for the flight.

Two Capitol attendants force open my boyfriend's mouth, while a third literally sprays the precious liquid from a water gun down his throat. Meanwhile, I stay by Peeta's side, holding his hand and caressing his face.

"Peeta? Open your eyes for me, baby. Open your eyes! Look at me! Look at me, I'm right here!" I begin to vocalize and sing to him. "La... la... la..." I pray my voice is enough to keep him alive.

Doctors continue to provide Peeta with water by pumping it into his body, which proves to be much more effective than a water gun. Soon, he has awoken and is sufficiently quenched. After some alone time during which we both grieve Haymitch's sacrifice, Plutarch Heavensbee enters.

"Would you please come with me?"

Looking at each other, Peeta and I follow him into what looks to be a conference room in the middle of the hovercraft. 11 people sit around the table, and I realize with a start that it is the Victors who mentored the Quell. Add Peeta, the Quell's sole survivor, and these are the only Hunger Games Victors left alive in Panem.

Plutarch explains to us that he is actually working with the rebellion, and he is spiriting all of us back to District 13 - which in fact still exists - right now. It would not do for us to become political prisoners of the Capitol, and valuable ones at that.

While I stay in one corner with Effie, Peeta sits down at the conference table and gets to know his compatriots. By seemingly serendipity, there is one Victor hailing from each District. Since some districts did not have four victors to spare, the remaining number of tributes were procured from the Career and other high-scoring districts. That way, one victor from each district - except for 12 - would be left alive to mentor. The surviving Victors are:

Grey Fretta (District 1)

Lyme Rabe (District 2)

Yohan Fairban (District 3)

Muscida Selkirk (District 4)

Soren Galloway (District 5)

Ivo Lockhearst (District 6)

Fir Yule (District 7)

Savera Inchcape (District 8)

Mizar Aldjoy (District 9)

Tiffany Waxler (District 10)

Wolfmark Redpath (District 11)

Peeta Mellark (District 12)

The gender split is perfectly down the middle, six to six: Grey, Yohan, Soren, Ivo, Wolfmark and Peeta are the men. Lyme, Muscida Fir, Savera, Mizar and Tiffany are the women. By the looks of it, none of the bunch look to be over 50.

The Head Gamemaker now turns to my boyfriend: "Peeta, you have been our mission from the beginning. The plan was always to get you out. Half of the tributes were in on the plan going into the arena. This is the revolution - and you're the Jabberbird."

My boyfriend is stunned. "But I can't lead a rebellion! I'm just a kid!"

"That may be true, but your eloquence is that of a man," Grey pipes us. "The districts need a leader to rally them with words. Words or pain, victory and love." I see him look over to me.

"I agree with Grey," Mizar adds. "As Victors, we will look to you as our leader. All of Panem will follow our example."

"You can do this, boy," Wolfmark encourages. "We are all behind you. Besides, you have someone to live for."

Peeta looks back to me, and I nod enthusiastically. He has me to live for.

* * *

But, as it turns out, I am not the only person Peeta has to live for. Upon arrival in District 13, doctors conduct a routine physical on me. To their shock, it is discovered that I am pregnant with Peeta's child.

Upon meeting District 13's leader, President Alma Coin, Peeta agrees to lead the rebellion - from underground at first, and then above it as more military successes are achieved. He films propos to rally the districts. He plots strategy, using his fellow Victors as his personal team of advisers. Plutarch and the others were right: he _is_ a natural leader.

The war continues for many months, with the rebel forces slowly but surely turning the tide in our favor. I soon go into labor, and give birth to a baby girl, whom I Ryven - a composite of the names of Peeta's brothers; they both tragically died with their parents in firebombing of District 12 by the Capitol.

At long last, the rebels begin their advance on the Capitol, storming the city street by street before finally taking the Presidential Mansion. President Snow is captured and immediately executed at the hands of my boyfriend.

Installed as the Acting President of Panem, President Coin gathers the Victors together to propose a final, symbolic Hunger Games using Capitol children. The elite group rule "No" in a surprisingly close vote. At a public announcement to declare the decision, Peeta attacks and kills the new President after he deems her corrupt. Commander Paylor is sworn in as the new President of Panem. At a trial for Coin's murder, Peeta is found not guilty by reason of insanity.

* * *

After everything quiets down, Peeta, baby Ryven and I head home to District 12. Except for the Victors' Village, our home is all but destroyed. Yet, gradually overtime, survivors of the bombings begin to return. News trees are planted, new buildings constructed. In front of the school house, Peeta erects two bronze statues of Duke Vedaldi, Victor of the 13th Hunger Games, and Haymitch Abernathy, Victor of the 50th Hunger Games. When other district residents propose the commission of a statue of Peeta, he quietly turns it down.

Equally quietly, Peeta proposes to me in the Meadow where I spent most of my youth, and we marry in a private ceremony in the woods - complete with a toasting over a crude campfire. The only guest is my mother.

And every night, as I sleep beside my new husband, Ryven in her bassinet at the foot of our bed, Peeta asks me, "You love me: Real or Not Real?"

And every time, I answer, "Real."


	16. Chapter 16: The End

**Chapter 16: The End**

It is still dark out when I hear the alarm go off on our nightstand. 3 AM, by my nearly impeccable body clock. The mattress sags as he rises to enter the bathroom, soon followed by the sounds of water running as he inconspicuously showers and dresses. At last, my husband emerges, retrieving his overnight bag from beside the closet. I feel him hover over me, before he kisses my cheek and whispers, "I love you, Girl on Fire." His pet name for me. I stir, pretending to still be asleep, waiting until he leaves our room, then the house. Moments later, I hear the roar of a hovercraft lifting off into the sky.

I lounge for a bit more until Ryven screams for her morning milk, and I rise to feed her. After getting my 2-year-old daughter ready for the day, I head into town to open the recently restored Mellark Bakery.

Being the wife of a Baker has its perks, as I put to use some of the new skills my husband taught me: firing up the ovens, kneading the dough, working the cash register. And Peeta's employees are always on hand to help however they can.

Still, I miss the love of my life when he is away like this. If being the wife of a Baker is idyllic, being the wife of a Victor is nearly impossible. Peeta's status places him within an elite group alongside his surviving Hunger Games comrades - a group that now has some say in the functioning of Panem's new democratic government. Known as the Victors Council, or sometimes The Twelve, these historic survivors make up a governing body that decides on matters pertaining to the halted Games and their legacy within Panem's past. They almost always gather in the Capitol for these summits. The Twelve have raised money to build memorials for the arenas and the tributes that died in them, commissioned statues of all the Victors to stand in the districts - like the ones dedicated to Duke and Haymitch. The Twelve even reluctantly permitted that statues of their _own_ likenesses be placed in the Capitol's City Circle, as well as busts in the halls of Panem's Senate. They reserve final judgement over how the Hunger Games are depicted in the district's educational curriculum, even giving talks to the students of their home regions. In each of their districts, the Twelve live as human relics. Some are reclusive warriors, like the samurai of ancient history or the Jedi of fantasy stories. Others like Peeta attempt to blend into their district's larger society.

Through it all, my husband and I have worked together to reconcile his extraordinary past with the calmer future we hope to share. Even after all the medications for treating his flashbacks and nightmares, after all his duties within The Twelve, Peeta and I still have each other at the end of the day. It is all one can hope for.

* * *

They play in the Meadow: my five-year-old daughter, and my handsome husband. From our picnic blanket, I swaddle our infant son... who now wakes from his dreaming with a plaintive cry.

"Ssssshhhhhh... sssshhhhh..." I nurse him to calm his wails. "Did you have a nightmare? I have nightmares too. Someday, I'll explain them to you. Why they came. Why they won't ever go away. But I'll tell you how I survive it. I make a list in my head, of all the good things I've seen someone do. Every little thing I can remember. It's like a game. I do it over and over. It's gotten a little tedious these past few years, but - as your father can attest - there are _much_ worse Games to play."

* * *

 **A/N: And that's all, folks! Hope you enjoyed it! If some of you are wondering if The Twelve is an allusion to Jesus's disciples, congratulations! You're right! REVIEW me with your final thoughts!**


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